Tey Do Hun
by Lo Zin
Summary: The story of a wood elf in Skyrim. She'll join the Dark Brotherhood, run with the Companions, become involved in the Civil War, and investigate her Dragonborn birthright... eventually. Also: werewolves, vampires, and wherever else she takes me. I won't always follow the official questlines. Thanks to Bethesda for the great world to write in.
1. A Choice to Make

_I don't own Skyrim or The Elder Scrolls in any way. I will not profit from this story. I intend only to share my role-playing and imagination with other fans._

Tey Do Hun

"Silence becomes you," Astrid said. Athene heard her foot tapping on the edge of the shelves where she sat, but she didn't turn. She was looking at the three captives. She'd been ordered to decided who was meant to die, and kill them.

Athene was terrible at taking orders.

"It makes you seem mysterious."

Shut up, thought Athene. It wasn't that she so bad at taking orders, actually. It was that no matter what the person insisted, if they were telling her she had to do something she didn't want to do it. Even if it was something she would have done anyway.

Stubborn. Willful. Oh, a bunch of other things, she'd been called throughout her life.

When Astrid told her she had to kill one of the captives, Athene's first inclination had been to murder Astrid herself. She'd said someone had to die, right? So wouldn't that be following orders? It might teach the woman what a mistake she'd made, drugging Athene and hauling her from her camp beneath the cliffs around Whiterun to… wherever she was now. But it would be a short-lived lesson, so what was the point?

The captives babbled. The one on the left was a soldier for hire, and he was sure there were people who wanted him dead. The one on the right was a real piece of work. He was just about slimy with the evil he'd spread. Athene could smell it from there. And the one in the middle was a hard-working bitch of a mom who couldn't shut up even when she had a blade to her throat. Who had the mark of death above their head?

Well, all of them, of course. Astrid wouldn't have brought them all here unless they did. But should Athene kill them all to prove something to a woman she'd never met?

Whichever way she played it, she played into Astrid's hands. So she slit the throat of the kahjiit on the right, the one with the real sickness in his soul, and wiped her blade on his fur. Not because it was particularly useful for cleaning off blood, but because she wanted to hear–Yes, there it was. Astrid's low laugh that said she approved.

The more the woman thought she had Athene under her thumb, the better. Because if she really was the leader of the Dark Brotherhood there in Skyrim, she wasn't acting alone. Never alone.

Whereas alone was exactly what Athene had always been.


	2. Delayed Burial

Athene had been sleeping rough for a long time. When she'd first escaped the Imperials at Skyrim's border she'd been offered refuge with Hadvar's family. But she and Hadvar had nearly come to blows as they fled the dragon attack at Helgen, and she wasn't comfortable accepting pity. They were all Nords anyway, and although Faendal was also a wood elf and seemed happy enough in Riverwood, he was the only one. She imagined staying there in the sleepy town, chopping wood and drinking ale and waiting for the Imperials to find her again. She imagined being lumped together with Faendal, possibly expected to like him simply because they were both wood elves. He was a good enough archer, but dull besides. So she'd learned what she could from him and moved on.

There had been nowhere to call home from that point on. When she'd killed a dragon by the Western Watchtown the Jarl of Whiterun had invited her to live in the city, but he still expected her to pay for the house. Biting back a comment about how long the building had evidently stayed empty, she refused his offer and began staying in a bandit camp outside the city walls. She'd chased off the bandits some time back and it was a good place to watch out for wild animals and stragglers who might also be looking for a bed.

After her run-in with Astrid, who had dragged her nearly all the way to Solitude, Athene hiked back with gritted teeth. She grew weary of her own anger as she reached the plains, but Astrid's words still haunted her.

As had her invitation to the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary.

Athene arrived back at Whiterun as the sun hung low in the sky. She meant to fall straight to bed but a commotion near Loreius Farm caught her attention. There was a stranded cart, a bored horse, and the strangest man Athene had ever seen. As she watched Vantus Loreius, who owned the farm, shouted something she couldn't hear and stalked away.

Athene glanced back at her bedroll where it waited. She looked up at the shape of High Hrothgar, the fortress on the mountain that had been shadowing her sleep since they'd tried to call her home with a thundering Thu'um. And she looked again at the man on the road, dancing around and squealing as if he was actually a pig dressed in women's clothes.

She shrugged. There were strangest things in Tamriel. This one was worth investigating.

"Trouble?" she asked the jester. And that's what he appeared to be, though she couldn't think of another she'd seen outside of picture books and stories.

He squealed again.

Athene leaned back.

"Mother!" he cried. "Oh, my poor mother…"

He claimed to be transporting his mother's dead body, which Athene found creepier and more entertaining than all of Astrid's postering. Vantus refused to help him repair his wheel. If Athene would talk to the farmer Cicero, the jester, would be extremely grateful.

Her purse had been a little light in the last while, and the hike back from Solitude hadn't done her any favours. Athene agreed.

"Oh, what now?" Vantus whined as she approched.

"That man. He needs some help."

Vantus began shouting about how weird the jester was. Athene considered showing him what a shout really was, but instead she kept listening. It was strange, perhaps as strange as the jester himself, but she really felt like helping Cicero was the right thing to do. She was attached to very little, let alone other people, and certainly not a bizarre Imperial carting his dead mother through Skyrim. But Vantus' bias irked her. He wanted to turn the man in to the guards for nothing more than making him nervous. A lot of things made Athene nervous, and she'd adopted the method of avoiding them, taking responsibility for herself, rather than running to the town guards. In short, Vantus was a coward and a fool.

What did that make Cicero?

In the midst of the farmer's rant Athene stepped forward and brought her dagger–a fine ebony blade–from its sheath by her hip. She touched the blade with a gentle finger and looked up at Vantus, who had stopped talking and stared at her with more than a little concern.

Thank goodness he'd stopped talking.

Athene raised the blade so they could both see it.

"Helping that man," she said, "is only the neighbourly thing to do. I won't turn him into the guards for something he hasn't done. Your suggestion is disturbing. I wonder… what are you afraid of?"

Vantus swallowed.

Within the hour he was down at Cicero's cart, helping repair the wheel. And after the jester had squealed his delight, Athene's purse was a little heavier. She stayed around to make sure the farmer had fulfilled his promise, and then turned to hike up the hill to her camp.

Then Cicero spoke up.

"I suspect, you suspect," he said. "I suspect, you suspect, we suspect there's more to this! A little place in the woods, oh yes! A dark door and a shadow falling! Two are better than one, off the path by Falkreath!"

"Ah," said Athene, as the pieces fell into place.

"Ah ha ha ha!" the jester laughed. 


	3. The Golden Claw

Athene and Cicero kept to the road and made good time towards Falkreath. The jester never stopped chatting, but as he seemed not to expect her to reply, it was all right. He muttered at the casket they transported, the body within, the long-suffering horse, and the Luna Moths as they gathered at the wildflowers by their path. Sometimes his muttering rose in pitch as if he was excited, but even when he began shouting, "By Azura, by Azura, it's the Grand Champion!" and broke into a fit of giggles, Athene wasn't disturbed. After the silence of the last few months, his constant chatter was reassuring.

The only time he broke form was when they neared the crest of the hill that would bring them to Riverwood. Athen was staring up at the mountain again, at the fortress High Hrothgar, thinking very hard about the invitation she'd been given.

"Up you go?" Cicero said. For a moment he was mournful, looking ahead at the road as if he would have to travel it alone.

"No," said Athene. "I'm not going there. Not yet anyway."

"But it calls? It speaks to you? In a voice only you can hear?"

"Something like that. My mother told me–Well, it doesn't matter anymore."

"My mother doesn't tell me anything," Cicero said sadly.

Riverwood looked much the same it had when Athene left it some months ago. A burly man worked up at the mill and his wife stopped chopping wood long enough to give them a curious stare. Faendal, the wood elf who'd helped her with her archery, pretended not to see her. Athene wondered what she'd done wrong there.

"There's a camp over on the other side of town," she told Cicero. "Why don't you head on over and I'll get us some food."

He led his horse away, and Athene turned to the pub, the Sleeping Giant Inn. But as she got near the stairs a Nord she'd crossed on her last visit shook his head.

"You're nothing but trouble."

She wasn't in the mood, so she stepped back and went up the street to the Riverwood Trader. Athene knew Faendal had a crush on a Nord girl who lived there, which was pretty pathetic.

The girl in question was sweeping, and the man who ran the store, Lucan, was grumbling and clearing up debris from behind the counter.

"Did something happen?" Athene asked despite herself.

"Er, yeah, we had a bit of a break in." Lucan didn't seem to want to talk about it, but then it exploded out of him. "There was this ornament, about so big, in the shape of a claw."

"You mean this thing?" Athene had found it on a dead Dunmer in Bleak Falls Barrow when she'd retrieved a Dragonstone for Whiterun's court wizard. She'd regretted the whole thing: not only was the court wizard an insufferable jerk, but the Dragonstone had weighed a tonne dragging it back to court.

"You found it!" Lucan was beside himself. The girl Faendal liked began fawning over Athene and it was all she could do to negotiate for a bit of bread and stew as well as the reward money before she got the hell out of the store.

Small towns, Athene thought. Jeez.

Once upon a time she'd lived in her own small town, understanding the ins and outs of the community and feeling a sense of belonging she hadn't appreciated at the time. Her village, just outside Arenthia in the northern reaches of Valenwood, had been her home as she grew out of childhood. And if she'd been given just a few more years of growing maybe she would have learned archery there from her brothers and sisters, and how to be a strong Bosmer woman from her mother, and all the other things she'd taken for granted she would once get to learn.

Instead, here she was. Skyrim. Forgetting the word Bosmer and calling herself a wood elf.

"If you don't stop feeling sorry for yourself," Athene said, "I'm going to–"

A shadow moved into her path. She'd been so caught up in worrying and complaining that she hadn't been paying attention.

Athene leaned back and stepped sideways, hoping to feint and surprise him as he–whoever he was–tried to grab her. Her hand touched ebony at her hip, she felt the bloodlust rise to her cheeks–

And stopped.

"Hadvar," she said. "By the nine, I just about killed you."

"Er, yes," he said. "I noticed that. I saw you were in town and thought I should… I mean I thought I would…"

"You don't owe me anything," she said.

"I feel I do. I wouldn't have made it out of Helgen alone. And I've heard things… The guard, they say you might be… Dragonborn."

His face, that she could see clearly now in the light from the Trader's shop, twisted as he said Dragonborn. Athene could see it clearly: How could she be? How could a little elf be something so important to every Nord?

"Don't worry, it's probably a mistake," she said as she brushed by him. "No doubt it was a trick of the light."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. Was there anything else, Hadvar? I have a date with a black door."

He'd grown up in Skyrim and likely heard rumours, as Athene had heard in the last few months, of the black door near Dawnstar terrifying locals. Did he think she referred to that now? It didn't matter. He didn't speak again, and she was left to make her own way out of Riverwood. 


	4. Sanctuary

"Ooh, you are such a pretty little girl. Would the sweetie like a sweetie?"

Athene paused at the top of the stairs, cloaked in the shadows of the entryway. There seemed to be a lot of people down there in the sanctuary and she wasn't ready to meet them yet.

Cicero claimed he had business in Falkreath, so Athene had gone on alone to whisper Silence, my brother, at the black door and have it welcome her home. She'd felt a shiver as she slipped in and saw Astrid waiting for her, but nothing more. It could call itself home, tell her she belonged, but she knew well enough that time would tell.

Astrid had welcomed her further and handed her a perfectly awful set of armor that Athene could never wear unless she wanted to advertise Assassin! to everyone near her. Though she had to admit, the gloves were pretty slick. She pocketed them and left the rest of the armor on the shelf.

"Oh, but you are so beautiful. Such a lovely smile. Your teeth… your teeth! No!"

The group further into the sanctuary were laughing. A child was telling a story, but… Athene peered through the gloom and saw the pale of the girl's face and her dark eyes. That was no child.

And the big guy by the forge, grumbling as the rest teased him. Was that fur coming out of her ears?

She felt a little better. This was a rag-tag group she might enjoy.

The little vampire approached. "Hello, new one! I heard Astrid pulled the old 'Choose your victim' gag with you. I love the classics."

"I imagine you've seen a fair few of the classics in your time. Or are you recently turned?"

"Good eyes," the girl said. "I'm Babette. I'm just a little girl. The Dark Brotherhood killed my mama and papa, and…" She began to laugh. "Rather convincing, don't you think?"

Athene smiled. "Very convincing." Though she couldn't help but remember that sometime, perhaps long ago, Babette really had been a little girl ravaged by a vampire. The thought was sobering.

"I'm looking for Nazir."

"Right there. The one with the curved… sword."

Something was off about the little girl's smile, but she turned away before Athene could inquire. She looked where she'd been directed, and there by the pool was a Redguard in full Hammerfell gear, and yes, a curved sword.

"That wall is calling to you," he said as she approached.

Athene briefly closed her eyes. The chanting she'd heard at the back of her mind since arriving in the sanctuary was louder now, but she could still ignore it.

"I don't really care."

"You don't? That's interesting. I've been here years and never seen it do any more than sit there like a wall. Now you walk in and it starts to glow. You don't really care?"

"Astrid said you had work for me," Athene said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Sure I do. And good luck with it. Though you'll excuse me if I don't count on your return." He outlined three targets for assassination. Athene committed the details to memory.

"You can pick them off one by one, or come back when you've killed them all. Excuse me. I mean, if you can kill them all."

He grinned at her and strode off.

The Argonian who sat cross-legged nearby bared his teeth.

"Don't mind him," he said. "Welcome home. You did the right thing by coming here."

"How do you know?" Athene said.

He shrugged.

"Are you a Shadowscale?" she asked.

His face lit up with joy. "I am the last. Veezara, and pleased to meet you."

Athene's mother had told her about Shadowscales back when they still lived in Valenwood. There were tales of hatchlings taken from their families, raised wholly by the Dark Brotherhood. As a child Athene had found it all incredibly romantic. Now she sat across from Veezara and poured out her curiosity.

"Were you really taken from your family? Were there more of you when you started? Did you always want to be an assassin? Did you miss the Black Marsh? The Hist?"

He laughed. "You've been thinking about this a long time."

"You're the last," Athene said. "Obviously I haven't been able to ask before."

"Don't be offended. I'm happy to answer your questions. And maybe you'll answer some of my own." His green eyes glittered.

"I…" Athene fought the urge to get up and stride away. She'd asked first, after all. "Maybe," she conceded.

Veezara's nodded, his reptilian face showing a kindness Athene wanted to trust.

"Maybe is better than no," he said. 


	5. A Windhelm Welcome

Four murders and one month later, Athene looked across the river to Windhelm and wondered why the hell she'd ever agreed to do this.

The first three targets Nazir had provided had proven no trouble. The beggar and the miner had both died in their sleep, and the last–an Imperial mill worker–had died while telling her a story about the last great war. He went on and on, turning a rabbit over his fire pit until it was nearly dry, claiming he used to be a soldier who bedded a different woman a night, until Athene finally leaned over and slid her blade up through his jaw and into his brain. That ended story-time.

When she'd returned to the sanctuary Cicero had finally arrived, and she enjoyed the discomfort that seemed to cause Astrid. The leader had barely looked away from the jester and the Night Mother's coffin to provide Athene with her next job. After an exhausting coach ride to Markarth, a conversation with an alchemist, and a somewhat interesting tour through a Dwemer ruin to assassinate an ex-boyfriend, Athene had taken a chance and hiked down to Windhelm to try for the bonus the alchemist had promised: she wanted her old friend killed, too. One of the Shatter-Shields, who used to be like a sister to her. It was just the best kind of revenge.

But as she gazed at the city that long held the seat of the High King of Skyrim, Athene was afraid.

They didn't want her there. Not just in the city, but in all of Skyrim. Most Nords she met barely spoke to her, and here in their traditional capital it would be worse than ever. She could tell, not just from the sneers of the guards, but from the cluster of Argonians on the docks and the evidence of a slum just over the Eastern city walls. Here was a city that was splitting itself apart. Did Athene want to chance that, even for her bonus?

She took the long route via the bridge over the river and made her way to the docks along the side of the city wall. Listening to conversations between guards and Argonians, between sailors and their captains, she knew she'd been right. Windhelm would not welcome her.

But she had a job to do.

Tomorrow. Night was falling.

A Breton saw her eyeing the fire he'd built just off the docks.

"Welcome," he called. "New in town?"

She stared at him.

"I'm Dalan Merchad, a sailor on The North Wind. You're welcome to my fire."

"Is this some kind of trick?" she said.

"Not unless you think a little warmth and companionship is a trick," he said. "The others have all gone to Candlehearth Hall for the night, but I suspect you wouldn't fit in."

Unsure if he'd expect more than she wanted to give, Athene made sure her dagger was visible as she sidled up to the fire. It was a relief after the chill of her hike and the cold seeping up through the frozen stone into her bones. She just about moaned as she held her hands over the heat.

"I suspect I wouldn't either," she finally said. She gestured at the Argonians who were filing into a building. "Same as them."

"They have their Assemblage and what work the Nords throw them."

"Sounds like a dream come true."

"I'm sure it isn't. Ho, here comes my friend."

Athene looked up from the fire, and with a heavy heart saw a Nord approach. She'd been hoping for a few moments more of warmth.

"No need to go," Dalan said, reading her face. "He's a true friend, and a true Nord in the best kind of way. Hello Brunwulf."

Athene looked at the newcomer's scaled mail and the scars that ran down his arms. "Some kind of a soldier, are you?"

He shook his head. "Not anymore. There's no glory in war, my girl. It's just something they tell soldiers so they'll risk their lives."

"An interesting perspective."

She wasn't trying to mock him, but she saw him wince. "Aye," he said. "Don't let the others bother you. Most of us are happy to welcome newcomers. Isn't that right, Dalan?"

The Breton nodded, and retrieved three bottles of mead from his backpack.

Athene took one and marvelled at what she'd found just outside the wall of the worst city she'd visited. Tomorrow there was murder, but for tonight she was allowed to be surprised. 


	6. Mourning Never Comes

Athene woke warm and comfortable. She stretched her arms out in the darkness and felt soft sheets and a lumpy mattress. She'd been having a dream about Valenwood, and could still hear the buzz and rustle of the jungle that surrounded her village home. Somewhere above, beyond the darkness, she knew the sunlight played on emerald leaves. Somewhere else.

And she was… here. Wherever here was. And whoever… whoever that was she'd just punched as she stretched.

"Oof."

She froze and cast her mind back to the previous evening.

"G'morning," the Breton mumbled.

Ah. Dalan.

Athene scrabbled around on the floor for her clothes. His little beneath-deck room was just small enough that she smacked her head on the wooden wall twice as she searched.

"Here," he said, and suddenly she could see.

She looked at the magelight above his hand. "You're full of surprises," she said.

"So are you." He grinned and reached a hand out for her bare shoulder. It brought back the memory of more intimate moments, mead-fuelled and urgent. It had been a long time since Athene had let herself enjoy a man in such a way. It might be a long time again.

She shook him off. "I have to go."

Above deck, fully dressed, she stepped past his shipmates as they turned and blinked to see her go. Let Dalan explain himself, she thought. Not her job. The Argonians were already out and working–Whatever work the Nords threw them, she remembered–and she walked quickly past a town guard and up the stairs to the back entrance to Windhelm. At first another guard tried to stop her, but she acted dumb until someone else came along and then slipped in with the group.

She found herself on the edge of a slum. Remembered a story Brunwulf had told her last night, about the Gray Quarter and its poverty.

She sneered. It was truly beautiful that Jarl Ulfric, the man the Nords adored, would let his city's residents live in such a place. As she considered it, two Nords shouted at a Dunmer and accused her of being an Imperial spy. Athene ducked her head and took the long way through the Gray Quarter, seeing what she could see, avoiding anyone's gaze. Luckily she was good at blending into poverty, though she carefully hid her Amulet of Kynareth in case anyone got any ideas.

Athene found her target in the Hall of the Dead, praying with her mother. After a few minutes Tova stood up and left, and Nilsine was left on her own. With Athene.

The wood elf moved up to sit behind her.

She was clearly rich, and clearly sad. She worried her hands together and muttered. Perhaps she was praying, or perhaps she was complaining. Athene hadn't spent a long time in chapels herself, but she knew about mourning. When the Thalmor had purged her home, she'd learned much too much about mourning.

She slipped her ebony blade out of its sheath and held it on her thigh. Its drew the warmth from her body and lay, as if a living thing, waiting for her decision.

"Oh!" Nilsine said, turning a little in her pew. "I didn't see you there."

"I didn't mean to scare you," Athene said.

"That's all right. I was lost in thought. My sister… my sister was murdered. My father says we just need to move on, but…"

"I understand," said Athene, because she actually did.

Nilsine's shoulders dropped. "It's my mother I'm most worried about. She doesn't seem to be coming around. And should she? How can things just… keep going?"

"By the nine divines, I don't know," said Athene.

Either Nilsine didn't hear, or didn't care about her slip. Eight divines, nine divines, it hardly mattered to a young woman who thought they were all against her.

She sighed again. "My mother…"

"Your mother will move on, even when both her daughters are dead," Athene said.

"Yes. Yes, I–What?"

Sitting in her clean dress, considering how everything bad happened to her, Nilsine raised her eyes and finally really looked at Athene. She saw a small wood elf with Bosmer tattoos dotting her cheeks and eyes like rich Valenwood earth. She saw her hand move with the swiftness of mercy. And then she saw red, red flooding over her own clean dress, and the darkness of the chapel rose up to welcome her home to Sovngarde.

Or wherever the hell it was these stupid Nords thoughts they'd end up, Athene amended.

The Nord's body slid to the floor of the chapel, and the wood elf was already gone. 


	7. Mother's Embrace

There was blessed silence from the black door near Falkreath. Athene stretched her shoulders and smiled as she put her hand against the cool surface, relishing the peace of the moment after her time in Windhelm. So she was totally unprepared for Astrid's reaction when she entered the sanctuary.

"He's talking to someone. Whispering to someone. You have to find out what he's doing in there."

"Hold on," Athene said. "Who? Where?"

Astrid took a breath as if Athene was the one being stupid.

"Cicero. He locks himself in the room with the Night Mother and mutters to someone. They're planning something. I have to know what."

"Aren't you being a bit paranoid?" Athene was being kind. Astrid was being a lot paranoid. And from what she could tell, it was when Cicero stopped muttering that they should worry.

"You have to go in there and hide and listen to what they're saying."

"Hide where?"

"In the coffin."

For a second she was took shocked to answer. Then she said, "Why me?"

Astrid's gaze was as cold as the black door. "So. You're a few murders into your time with the Dark Brotherhood and now you don't need to listen to me?"

Athene sighed. "Fine, I'll do it." But as she made her way through the sanctuary to where the Night Mother's coffin was kept, Veezara caught her eye.

"What do you think of Cicero and the Night Mother?" she asked him.

"I'm a Shadowscale," he said. "I respect the old ways, and it surprised me when I first arrived here and saw that they don't even keep to the tenets. I think… I think maybe the tenets were there for good reason. But as for Astrid, I will follow her absolutely."

His green eyes flashed as he said it, and Athene nodded.

"I hear you," she said. She might not like everything the woman said, but she was the leader, and although this Dark Brotherhood had apparently abandoned its old ways, some traditions needed to be accepted for the system to work. So she headed on up to the Night Mother's room and, finding it empty, slipped inside.

The coffin was closed, as usual. Maybe Cicero spents hours here muttering but he was nowhere to be seen right now.

Athene approached the coffin, wary. It was sitting up on its base, as if the Night Mother would be standing within. But that couldn't be right. After as long as she'd been dead—centuries, if the legends were true—she couldn't be more than a few bones and dust. Then again, Athene had seen draugr that looked fresher than she wanted them to.

She look and could see nowhere else to hide in the room. Astrid had been right, damn her. The only choice was the coffin.

Which was locked, of course. Athene pried at it until it popped open with a click. Surprisingly there was no puff of foul air. Instead, it smelled almost of… flowers. She heaved and pushed the thick doors aside and there she was: the Night Mother, looking better kept than any draugr. And serene, too. She wasn't a demonstration of the horror of death, but an example of beautiful acceptance: death happens to everyone, regardless of who they are or how they live their life. It might come after a long, good life, or it might come with a quick slice from Athene's blade. The Night Mother accepted it all with grace.

Athene moved a little closer, almost expecting the eyes to open. Almost expecting a look of benevolence to shine out.

The coffin lids slammed shut behind her. 


	8. Whispers in the Dark

The Night Mother's embrace was soft and dry. Athene shifted until she thought she could breathe and be comfortable long enough to hear Cicero's mutterings, then waited. And waited. Some hours she spent there, dozing, and then there was a click and a footstep, and Cicero was in the room.

His voice was muffled at first, but then she heard more clearly.

"Have you… have you spoken to anyone? No…. No, of course not. I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing and saying! And what do you do? Nothing! Not… not that I'm angry!"

Atehen was completely awake now. She strained to hear the meaning behind his words.

"Cicero understands. Cicero always understands! And obeys! You will talk when you're ready, won't you? Won't you… sweet Night Mother!"

It dawned on Athene: he wasn't conspiring with anyone. He was only talking to the coffin and its contents.

Her eyes were accustomed to the darkness, so it was with slow-growing horror that Athene realized there was light coming from somewhere close. It was coming from the Night Mother.

"Poor Cicero," she heard.

The Night Mother's lips hadn't moved. She hadn't shifted and her eyes were still shut. But there was no mistaking the words in Athene's mind, and where they'd come from.

"He tries… so hard," the Night Mother said. "But you are the Listener. You, my child, are the one who will hear my voice from now until death."

It was as if she heard a siren singing. Athene swayed in her small space, hypnotized.

"Tell my dear Cicero, Darkness rises when silence dies. Tell him and he will believe. And you, my Listener. You will travel to Volunruud and speak to Amaund Motierre. So begins a contract, bound in blood."

The light faded, and the voice was gone. The coffin opened and Athene tumbled out at Cicero's feet.

His face was a vision of fury.

"Defiler!" he screamed. "Treachery! Debaser!"

Athene stumbled to her feet. "Cicero! Um… Darkness rises when silence dies!"

The madness fled from his expression. For a moment she wasn't sure that he'd heard her, his reaction was so blank, and then… and then he laughed. Joy lit him from top to bottom as he began dancing around the room, howling with laughter.

Astrid took that opportunity to break into the room.

"I heard shouting! Are you all right?"

"All hail the Listener!" Cicero cried. "All hail you! Not you. You!" He giggled and danced some more.

Astrid glared at both of them.

"I'm fine," Athene said. "But the Night Mother spoke to me." She explained what had happened, and gave the details of their assignment at Volunruud. "Should I go there?"

Astrid shook herself. "What? No. No! I'm still the leader of this family and I… I need to consider this. Nazir has more contracts for you. Go see him. Let me think."

Athene watched her go, listening to Cicero giggle behind her. She turned.

"Cicero, did you want to be the Listener?"

The jester looked so sheepish it made Athene wish she hadn't asked.

"Oh… well, yes. I did. The silence became almost maddening. But now she has spoken! She has spoken to you! All hail the Listener!"

He stopped his revelry for a moment and said with sobriety Athene wouldn't have believed, "You get to hear voices in your head, now. We should all be so lucky."

And he winked. 


	9. Wolfish Investigations

Astrid had told her to go to Nazir and get new contracts, so Athene did. Astrid also told her to ignore the Night Mother and not travel to Volunruud. That was trickier.

It wasn't that she thought herself above the leader's commands, but being named Listener pulled at something in Athene's soul. It was a role she'd been given that didn't ask much of anything. She didn't have to give something up or worship anyone. Just go to a place, talk to a person. Accept the adoration of an insane jester. If Athene was being honest with herself, it made her feel important.

She'd fallen in with the Dark Brotherhood because it was the one faction that had welcomed her since arriving in Skyrim. It also made sense, given her temperament. She'd always been a little bit unforgiving. If someone wanted these people dead, it made sense to kill them. If someone wanted her dead she'd have accepted the same—while fighting for her life, of course. But did she have to follow them the way they were? They had never told her she was necessary, they just said she was useful.

Would she ignore the Night Mother? Or would she ignore Astrid?

Tough choice.

On her way to Volunruud she stopped in Whiterun to sell some off the wolf pelts and fence some jewellery. She was also curious because of a comment Astrid's husband Arnbjorn had made about the Companions. While the gruff werewolf had been calling Cicero a witless fool, he'd compared his dedication to the Night Mother to the Companions' dedication to honour. He'd said, "And that group is a pack of their own." And laughed.

Perhaps it was Athene's imagination, but when a werewolf talked about another pack it made her wonder. So off she went to Jorrvaskr to see what she could see.

Jon Battle-Born was in his usual place in the market, lamenting the state of his country.

"Everyone is obsessed with death," he told her, not realizing the irony, considering who he was addressing.

"What do you know about the Companions?" Athene asked. She'd lightened her load of pelts at Warmaiden's and left most of the jewellery with Belethor. Thank goodness the guy couldn't tell a stolen ring from crown jewels.

"They stay out of it, which is more than I can say for most of the people in Whiterun," Jon said.

"It?"

"The war. Stormcloaks, the Empire. The Companions have no stomach for politics that I can see, and I respect them for that."

"Even if they do a lot of killing anyway?"

Jon shrugged. "Nobody's perfect."

Well that was true, Athene thought.

"Have you ever heard about any werewolves in the area?" she said.

He eyed her and then glanced quickly away, towards Olfina Gray-Mane who was shopping across the market.

"Some people think that when night falls they prey on the unwary, right across the plains," he said finally.

"What do you say?"

He shrugged. "It's just more death, isn't it?"

Asking for rumours in The Bannered Mare or The Drunken Huntsman would probably arouse too much suspicion, so Athene contented herself with Jon's non-answers and set herself the task of observing the Companions for herself. They were a tough lot. Most wore heavy armor and equally-heavy battleaxes and swords, and even the archers looked like they wouldn't be able to sneak worth a damn. She'd seen the twins around while she was helping the Jarl with his dragon problem–Vilkas and Farkas, a couple of tough guys she shouldn't really like, but Farkas had grown on her. He was soft in the head but not as rude as the rest of them, and he was the only one who hadn't called her "You, elf."

They all drank in their mead hall and were rarely seen through the rest of town, though they travelled the countryside once in a while to lend a heavy fist or a sword to those who paid. The most honourable in Skyrim, and they were still just paid blades, barely different from Athene herself. It made her shake her head.

The day after her arrival she caught Farkas heading out of the city.

"Going hunting? I could help," she said.

He turned slowly, as if processing her words.

"No thanks. But if you've a good arm you should join the Companions."

She wondered how soft his head really was, that he looked at her and saw a potential recruit.

"Shouldn't you have a shield brother with you? That's just what I've heard."

He shrugged. "I, uh… I have something to do."

And with that intriguing pronouncement he resumed his march to the city gates.

As if she was going to leave it at that.

Athene kept to the shadows and on his trail. She didn't have to try: his armor was so loud she might have stayed in Falkreath and heard where he was going. He wound his way out of the gates and then turned west towards the watchtower. Athene stepped carefully along the side of the road, close enough that she could see the bristles on his beard, yet he seemed totally oblivious.

She knew looks could be deceiving, and hoped she wasn't making a mistake. But what was he doing that he wanted to be alone? What was his something to do?

Worried she'd underestimated him, she hung back and let him stalk on ahead. The road turned and hid him behind a pile of rocks, and she stopped for a minute, figuring she'd pick him up again when he'd gone past.

Then he didn't go past.

Athene blinked, and whispered, "No. Come on…" She ran ahead, soft footfalls barely registering on the dense plains soil, but at the other side of the rocks there was just… nothing. A lone wolf howl burst out from across the road, within a copse of trees, but Farkas was gone.

Gone, except for that wolf. Eyes peered out at her: one solitary creature making his way beneath the moonlight, an enormous wolf by any standards, and then it loped away.

"Fair enough," she whispered. "Good hunting."

She had an answer to her questions about the Companions. Now she just had to decide what to do with it. 


	10. The Silence Has Been Broken

Athene watched the draugr that slept just a few feet from where she sat. Perhaps if she shifted too quickly or spoke it would awaken and defend its crypt, but for now it was dormant. She watched it sleep and listened to the muffled sounds of Amaund Motierre leaving Volunruud with his bodyguard.

The contract they'd offered her was, in a word, astounding.

Murder the Emperor.

With this incredible request they'd given a necklace that was heavy enough that it must have been beyond expensive, and a sealed letter that Athene had immediately opened. It detailed how to systematically remove the Emperor's support system and ensure he'd be there in Skyrim for the big moment.

This was what the Night Mother had felt worthy of their attention. This was what Astrid had been too short-sighted to imagine. At least, so far.

For an insane moment Athene considered doing it herself, but she realized quickly that she'd need a team to accomplish every task. And anyway, the Night Mother might have named her Listener but the Dark Brotherhood had always been a group. A collection of misfits maybe, but a collection. Would she be doing right by keeping Cicero out of the loop, her devoted Keeper? Or Veezara, the last Shadowscale?

No, she'd have to tell Astrid about the plan. The trouble was, if Astrid never made up her mind Athene might have a problem.

Deal with that when it comes, Athene thought, as the slam of the crypt door reverberated through down the corridor. The draugr's eyes opened as bright blue slits, the glow of unnatural life flicking over to see Athene.

She slit its throat before it could stand, wondering for the hundredth time why that tactic worked when there was no blood or breath running through its body. Still, it did work. And now that Motierre was gone, she made her own way out of the crypt.

One more night in Whiterun, staying upstairs at The Bannered Mare, and then Athene headed back to Falkreath to fulfil her last contract from Nazir. Someone had to die at Half-Moon Mill.

She arrived past midnight and the mill was quiet. A woman stood vigil outside, and Athene ignored her, slipping into the house without a sound. The vampire within narrowed his eyes and the battle was vicious, alerting his wife. Suddenly things were happening too quickly, two vampires slashing their fingernails, daggers and teeth, and draining the life from Athene's heart.

Bloody and sore, she left the finally limp bodies of the vampire couple in their home and went to the stream to wash off. The moonlight played on Lake Ilinalta, fluttering up onto a ruined tower to the north and a stone on an island not far from shore. For all the violence of the last few minutes, Athene felt instantly peaceful. And instantly exhausted. She decided to stay the night—not in the house with the bodies, that was too much, but in the shadows beneath the working mill. She'd arrive at the sanctuary early the next day.

It was when she woke to morning that she realized how weak she'd become, and how the very sunlight seemed to burn through to her veins.

Ah hell, she thought. Vampires.


	11. Confession

She was well compensated for the murder of the vampire couple, and given a little of Nazir's respect, which Athene understood was not easily given.

As she stumbled out from the kitchen area Babette found her and pushed something into her hand. It was a potion vial.

"Cure disease," the little girl said. "Looks like you're going to need it. Take it in the next three days or you'll end up like me."

"What if I want to end up like you?" Athene said.

Babette's face sobered. "You're serious?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, but if you're really thinking that, come to me before your time's up. I have a few stories that might make you change your mind."

"Or maybe they'll convince me I'm right. I like you, Babette, but you don't really know me."

"Nope," Babette said. "I don't know you. But I know vampires and I know three hundred years of being a little girl."

"I'm not a little girl."

Now the vampire looked disgusted. "Oh, that's right. You're an aged crone and totally prepared for eternal life and terrifying the townsfolk. I'm serious, Athene. Come to me first."

The vampire stomped off like she'd been sent early to bed. Athene immediately regretted upsetting her. She thought she'd ask Babette about her stories anyway, regardless of what she decided.

But first, there was Astrid. She sat by the edge of the pool in the middle of the sanctuary, not far from where her husband sharpened daggers, and stared up at the stained glass skull on the wall.

"I've done Nazir's jobs," Athene said. She crossed her arms to fight the chill that came over her body as Astrid's attention focussed on her. The woman seemed to truly dislike Athene, and she wasn't sure why. Sure, they'd never exactly bonded, and Athene understood that Cicero had upset the balance in the sanctuary, or whatever had passed for balance while the Night Mother had been far away and silent, but Astrid had recruited her. She'd given the ultimatum, and the invitation, and it was by her order that Athene continued to be there. Regardless of the Night Mother, she was sure that if Astrid changed her mind at least half, possibly all, of the other assassins would show Athene the door in a violent manner. Maybe Veezara would have her back, but then maybe he wouldn't.

"Good." Astrid's voice was distant. "I've been thinking and, it would be madness to ignore the Night Mother now. You should go to Volunruud, see what Motierre wants."

She picked at her shrouded armor boot.

Athene had never put on the shrouded armor, except the gloves. The rest of what she wore had served her well for months: hide armor she'd crafted and improved herself, and boots that made her footsteps nearly inaudible. When she wore a helmet it was either a hood or a scaled piece she'd found that helped her archery by better focussing her sight. She didn't know if Astrid ever left the sanctuary, but if she did, how did she blend into the cities? Did she wear a cloak? Had she followed Athene to see how the newest recruit fared, invisible beneath monk's robes or a mage's hood?

Now that was a paranoid thought.

Athene sat down at the pool next to Astrid. She looked around, but apart from Arnbjorn the other assassins were in some other room or out on jobs.

"About that," she said. "I already did."

Astrid's eyes flashed, and for the first time since she woke in the abandoned shack Athene wondered if she'd made a truly terrible mistake ever putting her life in her hands.

"Excuse me?"

"I went to Volunruud and talked to Motierre. He gave me these." She dug into her pack and found the amulet and the letter. Tried to smooth out the broken seal and she handed them over, but of course it was obvious she'd read it. At least she hadn't pawned the necklace. She thought about following up by saying she'd just needed to know, but decided to leave it. If Astrid required more, if she decided to murder Athene right then, she'd brought it on herself.

But of course she'd fight for her life.

She left one hand near her blade and waited for Astrid's reaction.

"Oh. Oh, my." Astrid was reading the note, fondling the amulet on her knee. "This is... this is amazing. But what is this?" She held up the necklace. "Take it to the thieves guild. Devin Mallory knows us. He'll tell you what it's worth."

Had she just not noticed what Athene had said? Not realized the betrayal? Athene paused and then got her feet, unsure.

"And the rest?" she said finally.

"You read this, I presume? The rest is a masterpiece. We must do this. You, of course, as the Listener, as the one who brought me this letter..."

"Yes," Athene said quickly.

Astrid's smile was as pretty as a snake's. "You will kill Vittoria Vici at her wedding. Make it messy and make it good." 


	12. Trust

There was something about Solitude that Athene really liked. The first time she visited she'd walked through the gates to find a man being executed for allowing Ulfric Stormcloak to go free. Everything since then had reinforced that first impression. It was full of rich, arrogant people, but they didn't differentiate between human and elf. It had its fingers in its ears about the other Skyrim capital, Windhelm, but it also held the garrison for the Imperial soldiers who'd sworn to wipe out the Stormcloak uprising. And though its streets were wide and sunny, it covered up a darkness and a madness all the way back to the mad Emperor Pelagius, and the brilliant and horrifying Queen Potema. Solitude was a place of contrasts and conflicts and to Athene it felt just right.

This week the city was celebrating the upcoming marriage of the Emperor's cousin to Asgeir Snow-Shod, a local Nord. There would be feasting and merriment, and meanwhile Athene had learned Vittoria already lived with an Imperial, Aquillius Aeresius, and he was no member of the family. There was that conflict again. It was like Solitude wanted to mess with your head.

She sat in The Winking Skeever with Veezara and watched Aquillius try to drink himself to death in a corner table.

"It is a little depressing," Veezara said.

"So the marriage is political. It won't be the first." Athene tipped her ale back. She wasn't going to get drunk but she needed a little looseness to accomplish what she needed tonight.

"Have you ever been married?" the Shadowscale asked.

Athene choked on her drink. "By the divines, no."

His scales twitched. "It's not that strange a question."

"Of course not, sorry. Have you ever been married, Veezara?"

"No. I began crafting a wedding band long ago, for a woman I knew when I was much younger than I am now. But it… well, it didn't work out."

"Did you kill her?" Athene said, unthinking.

He hissed.

"Sorry. Why didn't it work out?"

"Someone killed her," he admitted. "That's enough about that."

Athene nodded. She was curious but didn't want to depress him further. In her experience most couples ended up with one or the other dead before their time. But then, her experience was bloodier than most.

"Veezara. Can I ask you about Astrid?"

"Absolutely," he said. "As long as you're not going to ask what I think you are."

"What do you think I'll ask?"

"If you can trust her. If you have to wonder that, you're in the wrong place right now."

"I know. I just wonder anyway." Wonder was a soft term. She was actually desperate to know. She'd put everything into the Dark Brotherhood now, and Astrid's non-reaction to her betrayal weighed heavily on her mind. There should have been something more than that. The should have been sparks, fireworks, a wildfire. Astrid had just not cared.

The only explanation was that she already knew. But even then, why not react? Why not let on what she really thought, rather than sending Athene back out as if the time she'd taken to consider the Night Mother's idea had never mattered?

Veezara hissed, more softly this time. "You sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely. Wish me luck."

He nodded. "Always, my friend."

She stood up and started to the bar, then tripped over the back of a chair and fell directly onto Aquillius' lap.

"I'm so sorry!"

"Well, it's quite all right, I just…"

"No no, let me buy you another…"

"I don't think that's necessary…"

Athene matched his bluster and confusion until she was off his lap and finished wiping up his ale. She ordered a few new drinks by waving at Corpulus, then plunked down in the seat across from Aquillius.

"So! You going to hit this party tomorrow?" she said.

"I'm sorry, party?"

"The big day. The wedding."

She felt even a little guilty as he slumped in his seat. "Yeah. Yeah, I might not make it."

"You don't approve? I hear it's a political thing. You know, Nord and Imperial…"

"That's it. It's… political. Yeah." He drank his ale in one.

"You don't seem impressed," she prompted.

"I just dunno if more politics is what we need right now. Is it gonna… is it gonna prove anything?" His dialect had gone downhill fast. The facade was gone.

Athene sighed. "It is kind of romantic though, isn't it?"

He scowled. "No."

"Oh?"

"She deserves better."

"Tell me about it." Athene slid her drink over to his thirsty hands.

Three hours later he was snoring in his chair and she paid off her tab with Corpulus while Veezara waited by the door. They walked out together and he nodded, impressed.

"You were right," he said. "Jealousy was the key. You're sure you've never been married?"

"Never quite married. Let's get to the Temple before they start setting up and find this hidden balcony he was talking about."

"I think you should go alone. It will be less noticeable. I'll bide my time in the castle courtyard and make sure I'm there when you need me."

"Thank you. Veezara, I'm glad you've come."

"Are you?"

"Of course. This is going to get messy and I trust you." It was a big admission, so she was gratified when he responded with a respectful bow of his head.

Then he said, "In that case you should know something."

"Yes?"

"Astrid sent me." 


	13. Bound Until Death

Before he'd become too drunk to bother, Aquillius was going to watch the women he loved marry some Nord from a small balcony above the Temple of the Divines. Athene was happy to take his place. When she arrived she found not only did she have a great view of the whole area, but she could crouch and be hidden from the view of the guards. It was like Aquillius had wanted her to murder his lover.

Though probably not. Though maybe. It was difficult to tell, where love was involved.

She ensured her bow was ready, poisoned the tips of two arrows, and waited.

Guests arrived and began to mingle. Wedged in beside the stone walls Athene tried to overhear their conversations. It seemed Aquillius wasn't the only one who didn't approve of this arrangement. Both families were sniping at each other, picking out weaknesses like old pros. Of course, they were. Long before the Stormcloak uprising Imperials and Nords had looked on each other like unwanted siblings. It had only been a matter of time before they turned on each other, as they had before, and would again. Season unending, the Nords called it.

It didn't have to be that way. Athene had once been the eldest of three sisters. Sure, they fought, but it was to let off steam. They never burned their bridges, as these nations were trying to do. They showed their love by telling each other exactly how stupid they were being. That was family.

Vittoria Vici and her grinning husband had arrived in the courtyard. The bride looked… well, beautiful. She seemed stunned by her own happiness, and clasped hands with anyone who came near.

"So many people, here for me! Enjoy the day, my friends!"

"Aww," said Athene, but quietly.

The couple sat for a while beneath the arch in the courtyard. When most of the guests had tired of each other, and the guards were beginning to sway on their feet, Vittoria and Asgeir got up and went to the stairs that would lead to the balcony above the crowd. Vittoria was going to make a speech.

It was time.

Athene cocked an arrow and just about lost it. She set the bow back and and looked at her shaking hands. What was that? She'd been fine a moment ago. She looked up to where the sun had broken through clouds, and cursed.

It had been too long since her battle with Hert and Hern. According to Babette, she had less than a day until Sanguinare Vampiris overwhelmed her body and she became one of the living dead. And it was making her weak, so weak she'd barely been able to draw back her bowstring.

But that was exactly what she had to do. There was no choice here. It was time.

Vittoria stood on the balcony just across from Athene, and raised her arms, and smiled.

"My friends! Thank you all so much for coming!"

Athene drew hard on the bow, let the movement follow smoothly as she narrowed her eyes and focussed on her target.

In the next moment several things happened. She let the arrow fly, and it pierced Vittoria's heart, drawing a startled cry from the newly married woman. But before that, the door beside Athene opened, and Aquillius stepped through. As Vittoria died he didn't even look at Athene, but he let out a strangled sob of sorrow that drew the attention of every person in the courtyard.

I guess he didn't want her dead after all, Athene thought, as all eyes fell to her.

Thank the divines she was wearing a mask. Not even Aquillius recognized her, but everyone moved towards her, and pandemonium erupted. Asgeir held his dead bride in his arms and bellowed. His family began to fight over who would get to Athene first, Vittoria's family were weeping and holding each other as the blood began to dribble down from the balcony onto the arch where the couple had sat just a few minutes earlier, and every guard in Solitude descended on the Temple to wring Athene's neck.

She pulled herself up and away from Aquillius before he could grab her. The doorway to the stairs was blocked so she threw herself off the balcony and hit the ground in a roll that saved her life but nearly popped one knee. Her exhaustion was suddenly deadly, the burn in her veins pumping hard through her whole body, but she had to get away. There was no choice in the matter, no option except life or death. She ran through the courtyard, deking left and right to avoid her fate, and at her only exit she pulled up short as she just about ran into a familiar figure.

"Go!" Veezara yelled. "Get out of here! I'll hold them back." His blades flashed and he grinned at a guard as they sized each other up. Athene wanted to watch the Argonian win that fight, but she had no time. She fled the castle grounds towards the market and ducked into the circular stairs, down and down until she burst out at the bay beneath the Solitude outcrop. There were guards there too, running with swords drawn, so she dove into the water, pushing and flailing and trying to move as fast as possible without drawing breath. Cold and dark became a part of her and she realized it was a relief to be out of the sun. Some hundred feeble strokes later she reached the far bank and hid herself in the rocks as the guards searched the surface of the water, waiting for her to appear.

A disaster, or very nearly. That was all she could think. Vittoria was dead, and it had certainly been messy, but every person in Solitude knew it right away. That wasn't Athene's style. And the disease that threatened to overwhelm her had just about won, and on the very worst day. What had she been thinking, not taking Babette's advice? Waiting until she was in the middle of the job to feel the full effects? Ridiculous. Idiotic!

Athene felt around in the pack, determined to take the Cure Disease potion the little vampire had supplied and be done with this nonsense.

The potion was gone.

She looked at the bay where it had surely been washed out of her pack. Wide and deep and nearly black. She'd never find it now. In Solitude, the Temple where she might have prayed for release was guarded by hundreds that wanted her dead. Where was the next town after that? Morthal? Could she make it in time?

Athene huddled in the shadows of the rock and wondered if her choices had just been taken from her. 


	14. Falion's Secret

Athene moved at night, never so glad to see the sun drop below the horizon. The guards had given up looking for her, or fallen back to regroup and decide where better to look. As she walked the swamps the rustle of giant spiders clawed at her ears, but she was muffled to them, surprised how easy it was now to sneak past the vicious animals and disappear. The huge shape of Solitude against the sky grew small as she trudged east, hoping to find an answer.

What she found was the abandoned shack where Astrid had brought her for her first test. Relieved, she knew this meant she was on track to Morthal, and thought if she could get that far, to an inn, she could have a little food and maybe even find another potion or temple before the change overtook her.

Vampires, she thought. Boody hell.

But what she came to first wasn't Morthal but a flickering light through the trees that she mistook for a house. Coming up too quickly she surprised a mage and saw lightning at his fingertips before she held up her hands in surrender.

"Please! I'm not here to hurt you. I just… I just need some help."

She swallowed and hoped he hadn't heard the news from Solitude.

"Do you?" He leaned closer and she saw he was a Redguard. "You do indeed. I recognize a vampire when I see one."

"No!" Athene cringed back from the mage. She couldn't be so far gone already. She hadn't felt it, hadn't realized… "Not yet. You must have a potion to help me. Something, anything!"

"Shh," he said. "Do you want to bring the town down upon us?"

"What are you doing out here anyway?"

"None of your business. Although I have to admit, your current state is very much my kind of business. I am Falion. And I have a proposition for you."

She didn't want to say it, but Athene was thinking: Anything. Anything, just cure me.

"Turn," he said. "Let the transformation take place. Let me study you for just a few days, and then I'll restore your soul and you'll be human once more."

It was a horrifying idea. Be a test subject for this obviously cruel and possibly deranged magic user? Let herself become a monster for just a few days, just so he could what: poke and prod her? See what she wanted to eat? Who she wanted to eat? She shuddered and remembered that until the weakness had overtaken her she'd considered this. Considered becoming a vampire on purpose. Why hadn't she listened to Babette? She felt like her blood was going to burn through her veins, that her mouth was watering, seeing the long dark neck on the man in front of her. Oh, yes. He was human still, he breathed and his heart beat, and she could hear the blood–lovely, salty, normal blood–as it rushed through him. She bit her lip and tasted metal. She wanted to leap on him and push him to the ground, feel him groan beneath her as he gave his life for her meal.

"Oh divines," she whispered. "Yes, fine. Whatever you want, just cure me of this."

He had a place in town, and he led her through Mortal out of sight of the guards. As she passed his neighbour's house she smelled something familiar and realized she might not be the only vampire there. And when he pushed her into his home she saw a little girl asleep in one bed.

"Your daughter?" she said, dubious.

"No. That's Agni, and you will not touch her." He led her to a trap door by his workbench and pulled it open. Athene smelled straw and bones, but he gave her no chance to balk. Down the ladder she went, and his face peered at her from the trap door frame.

"Comfortable?" he said.

There was just the straw to sleep on, and something had died years ago in a corner. Beyond that, not even a window.

"No," Athene said.

The trap door slammed shut. 


	15. Sanguinare Vampiris

For nearly a day all Athene had was the darkness, but as the day wore on, the darkness revealed itself to her in ways she had never imagined. It wasn't just that her eyes adjusted, as they used to do, but they changed—began to work with the lack of light so she could see the walls of the basement where she was trapped, make out the glowing white of little bones in the corner, and smell an underground stream that fed into the swamps outside. The basement came alive to her, as she faded from life and became something else.

And she hungered. Her near-frenzy at Falion's lovely neck was nothing compared to the deep and excruciating hunger that came over her as she waited and waited beneath the house, listening to human sounds above her. There was the wizard's heavy footsteps as he shuffled around the place, and Athene could hear his muttering and knew he was working on the tests he wanted to give her. But there was also the light steps of the child, Agni, and those were the most intriguing. They made Athene stand up and press herself against the low roof, trying to hear each time the little girl breathed, counting it out and wondering how youth would taste on her parched tongue.

Some time after that first day Athene gave up trying to remain moral. The thirst was all she had, and if Falion was intent on letting her starve he would pay with his life when she had one moment of opportunity. It wasn't as if she'd never killed before. Ha—She'd killed dozens. She'd make it hundreds. Thousands, if she needed, she'd win the civil war with her sharp teeth and fingernails, and she'd make all of Skyrim bleed for her.

It was also some time after that first day that she began to pray. She thought about Gods she hadn't revered since she was a little girl and thought that Gods answered prayers if you could only be a good enough child. She thought of her mother, and the rest of her family. And she thought of her sister, the one remaining alive, that she knew was somewhere in Skyrim too. Athene wondered if she could have spared herself all her pain if she'd only stopped being stubborn and found Shaude and told her they would always be family no matter what decisions they'd made.

Athene was dropping into hallucination, seeing a lake of blood fill up her small basement, when she heard the slam of the door upstairs. Falion was gone. Agni was alone.

She raised herself up again and reached towards the trap door she couldn't touch.

"Agni," she said. She called with the memory of her mother drawing her in from the forests when she was small. "Agni, sweetheart. Hear me, darling."

The feathery footsteps stopped. The girl heard her.

"Over here, sweetheart. I'm down here alone. I don't want to be alone, my sweet. Can you come and say hello?"

Agni had found the trap door. Maybe she'd always known it was there, but never suspected that Falion would use it. Maybe she'd been warned away.

"Hello?" came the girl's whisper.

"Agni, sweetness, open the door. Let me out into the light. It's dark and I'm afraid."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Athene. I'm just a girl, too. I just want to be free. Please help me."

There was a silence in which Athene's still heart ached and she was sure she'd blown it. But then scrabblings on the wood, and Agni was unlocking the trap door.

Athene's breath sped up, though she wasn't sure she needed it. She didn't need air and she didn't need her blood. She needed Agni's blood, Agni's life. It was so close now. It was just beyond her fingertips.

"Agni, yes," she said. "Thank you so much."

A blinding square of light grew above her and Athene cringed back, covering her eyes.

"Hey, you are a girl," Agni said. "Why are you down here? What—"

Athene didn't let her finish. She reached and grabbed the soft arms and dragged Agni down to the basement, into darkness with the vampire.


	16. Rising at Dawn

Falion returned before an hour had past. Athene waited in the basement and let him see the trap door open, his apprentice gone. She listened to his frightened cry.

His face appeared in the bright square above her basement. He clearly didn't expect her to be there, so he shouted and jumped back when he saw her pale face.

"Welcome home," she said.

"What did you… what…"

He couldn't say the words. Athene let him sputter a while, then said, "She's down here with me, Falion. And before your heart gives out, you should know she's all right."

Well, more or less all right. The little girl's breathing was ragged, her eyes half-slit as she dreamed some horror. Athene had held back from killing her, but it wasn't like she had experience with this kind of thing.

It had crossed her mind that murder might be a mercy. She wished she had Babette to speak with, to give her perspective.

"Let her go!"

"Then she'd fall to the ground, Falion. She's a little sleepy right now. She's lost a lot of blood."

He sputtered further.

"This is how it's going to be," Athene said. "Slight change of plans. You don't get to torture me anymore, you cure me, and I leave, and you never see me again. In return, Agni is safe and well and I don't break her neck. Deal?"

"At dawn," he said. "We'll go and cure you. I have a black soul gem here. You'll be human—sorry, elven—again. Yes?"

"Yes," Athene said.

"Let me take care of her."

"Not until tonight."

They waited as two people who loathe each other must wait, in silence and noticing each time one shifted, every time someone breathed. Athene found herself rocking the sleeping child, singing a lullaby she hadn't heard in a lifetime. Now that she was sated the sound of the blood through Agni and Falion's veins wasn't such a torrent, and she felt even peaceful. She looked at Agni and thought of Shaude, her sister. She thought of her sister and thought of the person she used to be.

"It's time," Falion said eventually.

So used to the darkness, and becoming used to her new powers, Athene found the night a comfort as they marched out of Morthal. She carried Agni in her arms, her face white in the moonlight. Falion looked like he wanted to throw up but managed to lead them to a stone circle outside town. He instructed Athene where to stand, and began his ritual while she held tight to the girl's arm. As the ritual washed through her she wondered if she was making a mistake giving up what she'd so recently acquired, but saw the gashes on Agni's neck and knew it wasn't what she wanted. Not now, and perhaps not ever.

As the sun broke over Skyrim's horizon she felt a final wrenching within her chest as her heart stuttered to life. The golden warmth was lovely on her face, and there was no burning in her veins. She was cured.

"Now give me Agni," Falion said.

Athene handed over the girl and stepped back, ready to run if the mage tried his powers. Fortunately he was totally preoccupied with his apprentice, and she started on her way, glad to be rid of them both.

"She'll need a potion within the next three days," she called to remind him.

After a moment he said, "Yes. Yes, a potion."

As he stared down at the little girl's face, Athene wondered if he was going to get to perform his tests after all.


	17. Survivors

"We thought you hadn't made it."

Astrid raised an eyebrow as she spoke. Athene got the impression there had been no tearful nights mourning her newest assassin.

"I made it," Athene said. "And that's enough said about that."

Veezara saw her from further into the sanctuary and his green face shifted in what Athene thought might be joy.

"My friend!" he called. "You made it!"

"I did," Athene said. "Thank you for being there, Veezara. I'm not sure I could have fought my way out—"

"Hee hee hee!" Cicero's cackle grew louder as he danced down the hall. "You made it!"

"Yes," she said. "Yes Astrid, yes Veezara, yes Cicero. Is Nazir around here anywhere? Did everyone hear? I bloody well made it. The end."

A growl from the blacksmithing area told her Arnbjorn also acknowledged her success.

"And a bride is dead. Very well done." Astrid held out a coin bag. "This is for making it messy. And a little something else, too. This is a spell for summoning one of the most famous assassins in history."

"A spell? No thanks."

Every face staring at her looked stunned.

"It's a powerful spell," Astrid said.

"When I have a powerful need I'll use it then," said Athene. "What's next?"

"Next, see Gabriella. She has the details."

Athene took the long way around to the poisoner's nook, through the room where the Night Mother was kept. She wanted to look at the aged face, to search for some of the dreamy peace she'd felt when she'd hidden in the coffin. But the coffin was locked again, and the Night Mother's voice absent. All was silence for the Listener. Athene shrugged it off. Turning into a vampire probably hadn't affected things, she figured. Almost definitely it hadn't.

Gabriella turned from her Nightshade essence long enough to explain that Commander Maro was the next target. Not to kill, but to demoralize. His son, Gaius, would die with evidence on his body that he was part of a plot to kill the Emperor. The whole idea was wicked and Athene found her enthusiasm for the job returning.

"Kill him in a city, in a public place, and there'll be something extra in it for you." Gabriella's eyes sparkled.

"Another spell?"

"What? No. Your fortune from an old friend. You won't want to skip this, my dear."

It was too intriguing for Astrid to dismiss.

She could have given herself a few days off, to recover from her time in Morthal. But Athene felt energized by her renewed life and wanted to get on the road. She just had one thing to do first.

"Babette." She found the vampire sitting in her favourite place, watching Lis, her pet frostbite spider.

"You've had quite a time," the girl said.

"You aren't going to exclaim that I made it?"

Babette smirked. "No. I heard you did. I can also tell you've had greater adventures since we saw you last. I'd like to ask how you did it."

"Did what?"

"Became a vampire and then not a vampire."

"You can tell?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't insult me. Just tell me how."

Athene pulled over a chair and told her story. She started by saying she'd meant to take the Cure Disease potion, but lost it in the bay. As the tale went on she considering editing, leaving out Agni, but Babette listened with such intensity, never asking questions as the words ran on and on, that Athene found herself telling everything. She even said she worried that Falion wouldn't cure the girl, but let her become...

"...Like you," Athene finished. "Maybe just so he can perform his tests, do his studies, or maybe for good. I think of that girl in his basement forever and I feel..."

"Sick?" Babette offered. "Responsible?"

"You think it's my fault? Well, I guess it is, isn't it? Though I didn't have a lot of choice."

Babette thought for a minute. "No, I guess you didn't. We survive. It's what we do. It's what has brought us all together here: Veezara, Nazir, Astrid, me, and even Cicero I'd guess. We're here because we're willing to survive no matter what."

For a moment Athene saw a vision of her mother, holding her hands up against a Thalmor Justiciar who had fire at his fingers, screaming at her daughters: Run, Run...

"No matter what," she agreed.


	18. Breaching Security

Farkas had just returned to Jorrvaskr and was sitting behind the boat-shaped building, bragging about a bandit camp he'd eliminated. Athene listened from her place on the rock wall beside the shrine to Talos.

She'd retrieved Gaius Maro's schedule from the Penitus Oculatus office in Dragon Bridge, west of Solitude. That was about as close to Solitude as she wanted to get. They had never identified her, and Veezara claimed as the chaos died down the city had set to mourning rather than searching for the murderer, but still she had a bad feeling about it all. It was a shame, given her earlier fondness for the place, but she hadn't lived so long without listening to her gut.

Commander Maro had set a fierce pace for his son. He'd be travelling constantly throughout Skyrim in preparation for the Emperor's arrival, and Athene had her pick as to where she'd put him down. She ruled out Solitude immediately. Apart from her bad feeling, it had just experienced a tragedy and she wanted to spread the job around. Markath felt too distant. A death there might be public but it wouldn't be a spectacle. Either Riften or Windhelm would hold a certain meaning, given that both cities were full of rebels and criminals. But she'd settled on Whiterun, mostly because of its central location, sure to arouse a lot of attention, and in part because she was curious to spy on the Companions a little more.

"The big one had a giant's club," Farkas was saying to Aela.

Athene wondered what counted as 'big' to a man as large as Farkas.

"Where did he get that?" Aela was playing along. She was known as The Huntress, and during her surveillance Athene had come to respect how straightforward she was with just about everyone.

"From a giant! I'm sure he did. He thought he was something else, but I showed him."

"Yes, you did," she said.

It was embarrassing the way the rest of the Companions treated Farkas like a child. Athene remembered the yellow flash of the werewolf's eyes and thought the Companions would be the only ones stupid enough to do so.

Gaius was set to arrive at Dragonsreach anytime. Athene wasn't worried about getting into the palace, since Jarl Balgruuf was still on her side after the dragon attack, but she hadn't decided if court was the right place to do the deed. After the mess at Solitude she thought discretion might be smarter.

"Are we hunting tonight?" Farkas said eagerly.

"No. Remember, ice brain? Your brother, Skjor and I have a job in Falkreath. We'll hunt when we return.

Athene couldn't see them, but she could just about hear Farkas' disappointment.

"All right then."

She hopped off the wall and meandered past Heimskr, still preaching. According to him, Talos was mighty, unerring, unassailable, and any number of other over-the-top adjectives that didn't mean anything when worship was banned. She supposed she'd feel warmer towards the preacher if he didn't lump all elves together with the Thalmor in some unified elf race bent on keeping the Nords down. Considering her treatment by both Thalmor and Nords, that was almost hilarious.

"You missed a spot," she said, getting Heimskr's attention and gesturing to Gaius Maro who was admiring Whiterun's scenery on his way up to Dragonsreach.

The priest glared but didn't miss a beat.

"Do the elves take your homes? Your businesses? Your children? Your very lives?"

"Not yet," she answered, and moved away before she drew more attention to herself. For an Imperial in Skyrim, Gaius didn't seem much on guard. Staring up at the Gildergleam he nearly tripped over the little stream in front of the Temple of Kynareth, and then raced up the stairs to the palace as if he was afraid his father was watching.

He was going to be the laughingstock of Dragonsreach. Athene made another gut decision: no assassination there, with everyone watching. Somewhere and sometime else, when they considered him no real liability. It would make the suggestion that he was a spy even more poignant.

As evening came on she loitered in the market near The Bannered Mare, waiting for Gaius to retire for the evening. The sun set and took the little warmth with it, and she let herself think briefly about how good it had felt to relish that chill in the air and in her veins. Then she saw the Penitus Oculatus agent stumbling down the steps, already a little into his cups, and came fully into the moment.

The market had cleared. Heimskr had finished his ranting and headed home. There were city guards patrolling, but there were so many shadows Athene was satisfied. He had just about reached her. He was distracted by Masser and Secunda as the clouds broke and the sky lit with green and gold. This was her moment.

She saw Farkas striding down the far stairs towards the city gates. Alone, again.

The false evidence was on Gaius' body before he was dead, and he was dead before she'd thought twice. Athene's blade found a lovely gap in his armor just beneath his ribs—such an oversight—and she held him long enough for him to whisper frantically, desperate to tell her... but she didn't hear. He was gone and she dropped him to the stairs.

She was out the city gates after Farkas before Gaius Maro's body had finished rolling to a stop in front of a startled city guard.


	19. Running with the Wolf

"Shouldn't you have a shield brother with you?"

Athene couldn't help herself. She should have watched Farkas from a distance and tried to follow him once he'd changed, maybe stolen a horse from the Whiterun stables to keep up, but she was curious. And she felt no danger, though some part of her mind told her that was idiotic.

"Or sister," she amended as the warrior turned to look at her.

"I'm just going to do some stuff."

"That's what you said last time. And then you became very hairy. Even more than usual."

He looked around at the stables and the cart-for-hire nearby. Just up the road a camp of Khajiit were selling their wares.

"It's too busy here to talk. And you're not supposed to know about that."

She stopped herself from telling him he'd contradicted himself. Were they going to talk, or not? But everyone called him stupid. She decided to try a different route.

"Maybe I'm not supposed to know, but I do. What are you going to do about that?"

She stepped closer and looked up. Way up. He was tall for a Nord, and for a Wood Elf—well, they were all short compared to any Nord.

"Back up or you'll get my fist," said Farkas.

She gave him a little space.

"Why are you talking to me?" he said. "So you know our secret. What are _you_ going to do about it?"

"I just want to know more. What it's like, how it happened. I want to know if it's something that can spread, like vampirism—"

"We're not like vampires," he spat.

"I know," she said quickly. "But I don't really know. I want you to tell me."

"Why me?"

"Because you told me I should become a Companion. You don't call me 'little elf' like everyone else. And like I said a minute ago, you're alone. You should have a shield brother or sister with you, but you don't. And it's been that way a few times. I'm alone too. It makes me curious."

She hoped she wasn't laying it on too thick.

He shuffled his feet and looked back up the path to Whiterun. "They've all been busy lately. Vilkas, that's my brother, he's been talking to Kodlak a lot. They think this... this gift maybe isn't a gift. Skjor and Aela think it is. But everybody's worried about what's going to happen." He shrugged. "They don't have a lot of time left for running around the place."

Athene actually felt for him. She'd started investigating the Companions out of her usual sense of wanting dirt on anyone tougher than she was. They were a group of fighters? Fine; She'd make sure she knew enough that they'd never want to mess with her. But having identified their weakest link, now she found herself getting sucked in. She hadn't lied when she told him why she'd chosen him, even if she'd left off the part where she might blackmail them all.

"I do," she said, as he shuffled some more and sighed. "I have time to run around the place, if you want. Tonight, anyway."

It was a brash thing to say and she expected him to laugh her off. She did not expect him to grin at her with a twinkle in his eye like he was entertaining the thought.

"Can you keep up?" he said, reminding her of her previous doubt that she could, without a horse.

"I'm fast, and I'm smart." She saw the doubt flicker to his face and quickly corrected herself. "Not that you aren't smart, but I might be able to find a better path and catch up when I need to. Also, I'm determined."

"Well I can tell that," he said. He looked skyward, to the moons, and his longing was obvious.

Athene began to walk off the path, further from the city and away from other eyes. She'd been a vampire this week, and now she was going to romp with a werewolf. She was part of a plot to murder the Emperor of Tamriel. Could things get any better?

"Let's run," she said.

Farkas barely had time to nod before he was into the shadows, growling and changing. Athene broke into a sprint and let the plains take her far away, the pounding of wolves' feet hard in her ears.


	20. Dragonborn

He was a talker. That was a shame.

They lay together in a wolf den, rocks overhanging the little sheltered area in the foothills north of Falkreath. They'd run for miles and finally stopped and fought long enough to shift the previous occupants of the den on their way before collapsing into the dirt as if it was the most comfortable bed. Filthy and exhausted, Athene could barely think straight and there was nothing she'd rather do than sleep. Well, almost nothing. Farkas' hard body next to hers wasn't without its merits even covered in the grime of the hunt. But then he'd wanted to talk, and then he hadn't shut up.

He told her more about the Companions, his friends and family in Jorrvaskr and the bond they shared with blood, and as wolves. He told her about the Harbinger, Kodlak, with awe and respect in his voice. He didn't know exactly where he and Vilkas had come from, but they'd been raised as warriors and he loved the role. He'd never questioned he was exactly where he should be, and Athene found that certainty impressive.

All she had to do was murmur or express agreement to keep him talking, which was fine because she was officially too tired to do anything else. But then he said, "I've heard of you, you know."

A stone settled in her chest. He must have felt her stiffen because he moved a little away and the loss of his warmth was shocking.

"Heard of me how," she growled.

"The guards in Whiterun say you're Dragonborn. They say when you killed that worm at the Western Watchtower you took its soul, like a hero out of legend."

"And they whisper this nonsense behind my back as I pass?"

"Only because you yelled at them when they said it to your face."

Athene tried to shrug, but the gesture was lost since she was lying down. She said, "Legends are legends because they happened a long time ago and they're too amazing to be believed."

"So you didn't absorb its power?"

"I... absorbed something."

"And you Shouted? Like Ulfric Stormcloak? Like the Greybeards teach?"

"Apparently."

"That's amazing. Too amazing to be believed, maybe."

She punched his arm.

"Ow." He grabbed her hand, and held it—No, dropped it again. Little elf hand, big Nord fist. Athene shifted onto her side and closed her eyes.

He wasn't to be deterred. "You should go see the Greybeards. Maybe they can teach you more."

"I'm not a great student."

"It sounds like you don't have to be. And anyway, you might not have a choice. If you are Dragonborn, these things have a habit of happening whether you want them to or not."

He started to tell her a story Vilkas had told him, about a long-ago champion in Cyrodiil, slaying a unicorn to obtain the hunting god Hircine's blessed hide. Athene had time to wonder why these Nords cared about an Imperial hero before she drifted into sleep.

She woke and left Farkas while he was still dreaming and twitching like a dog by a fire. It had been a great night, but she was sore and confused. She walked slowly through Falkreath hold, avoiding the town and coming to the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary via the hills, out of sight. There was no reason to delay, as her assassination had been a total success, and no one else knew how she'd spent the night. But delay she did, and it was afternoon before she touched the black door.

Gabriella waited in the entryway as if she'd heard her coming.

"Yes yes, you did it," she said, brushing aside Athene's success with a hand wave. "There are more important things right now. There's been an incident. Cicero. Veezara..." She paused.

It was too much to wait to hear which of her friends was hurt or dead. Athene pushed past her and ran once again.


	21. The Cure for Madness

Astrid gripped Athene's arm and led her out of the sanctuary. "Find Cicero. Kill him. Put this family back in order, Listener."

Athene let herself be led and didn't look back at the mess Cicero had left. Veezara was lying in a pool of his own blood and what sympathy the others had for the jester was back to zero.

"He's fast, I'll give him that," the Argonian had wheezed. Athene had winced and patted his shoulder where she was sure he hadn't been hurt.

Of the few people in the sanctuary she'd really started to like, one had nearly killed the other and run away. And of course it was up to Athene to stop him.

"Take my horse Shadowmere. She's one of us, and she'll get you there quickly," Astrid said. Her husband had run after Cicero, so of course she was worried. Though not worried enough to go herself, it seemed.

"What brought this on?" Athene finally said. "What did you say to him, Astrid? He wanted to be here. I read his journals and they said he was acting for the Night Mother. He's been loyal for years, and gave up everything to come here. He wouldn't abandon his Mother for nothing."

Astrid hissed and looked at the pool by the black door. It was frothing and bubbling, but she didn't comment on that. Instead she said, "I may have made a few comments about the Night Mother. But come on. It's ridiculous, all of this. We were fine before that Night Mother arrived, fine before her Keeper and her… before he ruined everything. I knew I shouldn't have welcomed that freak in, and now look what he's done." She pinned Athene with a glare. "Kill him and fix this." She turned and went back into the sanctuary.

"No problem!" Athene yelled. She bit her lip to stop a further outburst. It truly was ridiculous, all of it. Cicero hadn't attacked Veezara, he'd attacked Astrid, and no wonder. Now her orders–Orders! After everything, she was taking orders from a bitchy Nord who clearly despised her–were to murder the Keeper. She would have fumed further on that train of thought, but the froth on the black pool was resolving itself into… something.

A horse. Midnight black, with glowing red eyes. Clearly demonic, or daedric, yet it stamped its foot and peered at her as any horse might, and Athene smiled. One of us, Astrid had said. Now Athene understood.

She smoothed her hand over its soft nose, and patted its neck. When she mounted Shadowmere it kicked up its feet and they were on their way to Dawnstar, racing the wind. To move so quickly and ride with such power, Athene imagined it was it felt like to be a horse–or a demon.

Arnbjorn lay outside the Dawnstar sanctuary and it looked like he'd taken a few rounds with a bear. Athene wouldn't have cared if he'd been dead. He'd clearly adopted his wife's attitude towards their newest recruit and showed little respect. And anyway, he could have a dozen broken bones and it wouldn't affect Athene after she'd seen Veezara so battered.

"I knew she'd send you," he said, holding his guts with a hand. "I didn't know you'd smell of werewolf."

"Get gone," Athene said. "I'm going after Cicero."

He took no convincing, and made no further comment about her smell. Athene was left with a new black door, and she spoke the password she'd read in Cicero's diary. Shadowmere stamped and huffed behind her, and she pushed into the sanctuary.

It was nothing like Falkreath. There the ancient space had been made into a home, but here a home had been abandoned so long ago it was an icebox.

"Listener? Is that you? Oh, I knew you'd come!"

It broke her heart to hear him call to her. He bragged about the traps in the sanctuary, and the restless spirits of old assassins. His voice was everywhere and more than once she turned, thinking he was behind her, only to realize it was another spirit with its blade raised. Athene cut her way through the ancient ghosts and Cicero's voice became more and more strained.

"This is not what Mother would want! The Keeper kill the Listener, the Listener kill the Keeper? Madness! All right, I attacked Astrid, but you must understand! What's a fool to do when his mother is slandered and mocked?"

Athene wanted to call out, What did Astrid say? She wanted to ask Cicero about the jester he'd mentioned in the diaries she'd found, the one who had given him his new purpose, and his laughter, when the sanctuary in Bravil had been desecrated, and all other assassins had left him on his own. She wanted to hear about his growing madness, but she kept silent, because…

"The Listener listens!" Cicero called. "A joke! I get it. Listener, listen. I do feel bad about Veezara. He got in my way. That was all. But tell me that hulking sheepdog has bled to death?"

She had to smile. Sneaking past a troll that looked like some kind of mutant horror, she nearly laughed and caught herself before she gave away her position.

Then there was just one last door, and she opened it to find Cicero curled at the end of a room. He was pale and bleeding, and he looked at her bleakly.

"So Astrid sent you," he said. "Astrid commanded the Listener, and the Listener obeyed. Foo. And yes, I attacked her, and I'd do it again. Anything for Mother! Listen to Cicero. Don't obey Astrid. Go back and tell her you did the deed. Tell her I was stabbed, strangled, and drowned! Tell her anything, only let me live!"

"Cicero," Athene whispered. "What will you do? The Night Mother is at Falkreath. You're the Keeper. You've left her behind."

Suddenly there was real pain his face, which made her wonder if his physical injury was an act. Was he not as hurt as he seemed? It didn't matter. She had made the decision when she'd seen him there, begging. This was not a contract bound in blood. This was the Keeper, and she would not kill him.

"I don't know," Cicero said. "Know not, know not. I don't know that! But I know it isn't over!"

He looked at her with the same expression she recognized from when she first met him, on the road near Whiterun. When he'd admitted they were both going to the same place, and she'd realized who his Mother really was.

"I stabbed you," Athene said. "I strangled you, and I drowned you. Goodbye, Cicero."

She turned and left him alone in his sanctuary.


	22. Repercussions

Athene should have been glad things were back to normal in the Falkreath sanctuary, but they didn't feel normal without the jester's bizarre cackle, and the room with the Night Mother was suddenly abandoned. No one else wanted to go near. So Athene went alone, spent an hour Listening to nothing, and thought she understood a little better how silence had driven Cicero insane.

Festus Krex gave her the next target in their plan: The Gourmet, a famous chef. They'd get rid of him—or her—and take his place to get close to the Emperor. But Gabriella told her to go to Whiterun first and cash in on her last bonus: the fortune reading from Oleeva the Feeble.

"This is worthwhile," the alchemist urged. "I mean it. Whatever else is going on, you need to listen to what Oleeva has to say."

Athene and Gabriella hadn't bonded at all, so her enthusiasm for this fortune thing was interesting.

"Okay, I'll go there first," she said. "If I miss The Gourmet, though..."

Gabriella rolled her eyes.

The whole group appeared more relaxed since the incident with Cicero, as if now that he was gone nothing else could go wrong. Veezara was the only one who'd told Athene he was sorry.

"You're sorry?" she said. "He stabbed you."

"Yes, but his knife was intended for Astrid. I'm not sorry I stopped him, but I'm sorry you had to kill him for it."

Athene turned away before he saw her face. She wanted to thank him for his kindness but the lie was thick between them.

She started towards Whiterun late in the afternoon. She risked encountering more wolves, perhaps even bandits, but she thought the distraction would do her good. The sunset was molten gold and as night fell she looked up to High Hrothgar. Cicero had asked her if she'd go up and see the Greybeards. He hadn't told she should, like Farkas did, but he'd been interested which road she'd choose. At the time her decision had seemed uncomplicated, and look at how that turned out.

Nearing Riverwood she stopped dead.

"I can hear you," she said. "You may as well walk beside me."

Babette stepped out of the shadows, looking for all the world like a little girl lost. "I'm impressed," she said. "Most people can't hear me following them. Even people like us."

"You follow your friends a lot?" Athene nearly stumbled over her words. Colleagues, she'd meant to say. Follow your colleagues. Was Babette her friend?

With surprise, she realized she was.

The vampire stepped forward. In the low light her skin was luminous and her eyes too bright, nearly glowing.

"Astrid gives me jobs, but the tactic is usually the same. A child in distress, and then I reveal the truth. I get a little bored of it sometimes. So sometimes I follow and see what the rest of you get up to."

"Is this the first time you've followed me?"

Babette shook her head. "The whole sanctuary knows about your crush on the werewolf, you know. So you can stop worrying about that."

"I don't have a crush."

"Sure. Okay. Anyway, however fascinating your obsession with body hair might me, that's not why I'm following you today."

Athene took a deep breath and decided to leave the teasing alone. "Do tell," she said.

"Another thing I'm good at, as well as appearing innocent, is hearing things I'm not supposed to. I know, you're the Listener. But imagine how much you'd get to hear if you looked like a child and no one took you seriously."

There was a flash of something like pain across Babette face, evidence that not being taken seriously wasn't always a blessing, even for an assassin, and then it was gone.

"I've been hearing things out of Morthal," she continued. "The area has always been ripe with vampires, which is probably why that bastard Falion hangs around, studying them. There's a Master nearby called Movarth. I've had a few dealings with him. But now the rumours have changed. Apparently the townsfolk have started seeing some kind of ghost. A little girl. And some wastrel named Benor claims he woke up to find her leaning over his bed."

Athene closed her eyes. "Agni."

"I think so," Babette said.

"He didn't cure her."

"No surprise. I thought you should know for sure, though."

"And now what? Falion is the only one I know who can cure vampirism. Have you heard of some other way?"

Babette hesitated then shook her head.

"So if he's intent on keeping her the way she is, what should I do? Light her on fire?"

"No," the vampire said quickly. "I don't suggest that."

Athene finally asked what she'd been wondering for weeks. "What would you have wanted?"

Babette was quiet for a long time. She was so serious her face appeared almost as old as she really was, or at least an adult woman: lined with worries, heavy with dark memories.

"I would have wanted someone to ask me that," she said eventually. "Back then. No one ever asked me anything. I was a child from when I was a child until I finally ran away fifty years later."

"Ran away from who?"

She looked up into Athene's eyes. "Her name is Sybille Stentor."

"The Solitude court wizard? Babette, are you sure?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course I'm sure! I lived with her for half a century."

"She turned you into a vampire?"

"I... I don't know. I can't remember. But she was there when I woke up, and she explained what I was. Taught me how to hide, how to feed, and how to stay alive. She treated me all right, but eventually I had to go. I didn't want to be a child anymore. Turned out it didn't matter where I was, I was always going to be seen as a child, until the Brotherhood found me."

She shrugged.

"And sometimes even then," she admitted. "Nazir, he—"

She stopped as if she'd woken from a dream. Glared, and before Athene could ask a thing, she said, "What are you going to do?"

Athene raised her eyebrows. This decision also seemed uncomplicated, so she wondered what kind of madness it would bring her way.

"I'm going to ask Agni what she wants," she said.


	23. Morthal Matters

Morthal had more problems than one underage vampire. A fire had killed a man's wife and child, and he'd moved in with another woman the very next day. Locals suspected the man of murder. They feared Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone was more concerned with having visions than helping them survive ghosts, vampires, and civil war, and everyone viewed the new wizard—Athene's best friend Falion—with suspicion bordering on fear.

It was funny what you missed while you were locked in a basement.

Athene and Babette checked into the Moorside Inn. Since Athene had assassinated their Orc bard some time ago, the innkeeper had hired a sheepish looking Imperial who plucked at his lute and muttered rather than sang, as if embarrassed for trying. From what she could remember of Lurbek, Athene thought this was an improvement.

"I don't imagine we'll find her just hanging around town," Babette said. "As I recall it's difficult to get used to the way the sun feels, and the way people act."

"I thought you could pass for a regular human fairly well."

"Now I can, but in the beginning it's difficult. Even when someone can't see what you are they know something's wrong. Some of it is eating well, and some of it is confidence. I had a soldier for a snack on the way here, and I act like a living child so people see a living child. I don't know whether Falion is feeding Agni, or what he's feeding her. Did he ever feed you?"

"Not really." Athene didn't count the pouches of blood he'd thrown into the basement as being fed. She didn't even know what animal they'd come from.

"So there's that. And then she's newly turned, so she won't have the confidence to appear as anything other than a newly turned vampire."

"Then we'll have to seek her out. Lami, the local alchemist, said the ghost has been seen at the burned out house where the family died."

"You don't think we have both a ghost and a vampire, do you?"

"I'm not sure I'm qualified to handle all that," Athene said.

Babette snickered. Then the smile dropped off her face. Athene realized that the inn had gone quiet. Two men who'd been singing a noisy drinking song over the shy bard's lute got up and walked off.

"You," a familiar voice said.

Athene turned in her chair.

"Hello," she said.

"You said I wouldn't see you again." Falion sneered, but his eyes were terrified. He crossed his arms and looked around the inn, possibly noticing he'd cleared the place out. Possibly not for the first time.

"Change of plans."

"I don't approve your changes of plans. Any of them. You need to leave. Now."

Jonna, the innkeeper, was suddenly between them. "Come on, friends. This doesn't have to be unpleasant. What's going on?" The look she gave Falion was kinder than the kind he'd been getting from other townsfolk, but still not pleasant.

"This… elf and I have history. Stay out of it, sister."

"You're siblings?" Athene looked between them. Now she could see it. "Maybe we chose the wrong inn."

"Of course not! There's no reason to leave. My brother was just going. Weren't you Falion? Weren't you just about to stop hassling some of the only customers I've had in the last month?"

Falion was shaking with rage. "Fine! Fine—"

"Where is she, Falion? Your apprentice?" Athene looked to Jonna. "You know the little girl he's taking care of? Have you seen her lately?"

"Lately? Of course, I… Well, not in the last few days. Not in the last week or more, actually. Falion, what's going on?"

The inn was silent. Three intense pairs of eyes stared the mage down. Athene felt success dawning, and then something happened she did not expect.

Falion turned and ran out of the inn.

Athene went after him, hearing Jonna's surprised shout behind her. But Babette was faster, tearing out of the inn and out of town ahead of Athene, and by the time she reached the ritual stones where she'd had been cured of vampirism she'd lost the little vampire and the mage. She panted and peered through the gloom. Nothing. There was a crackle that sounded like a giant spider, but even that was obscured behind fog.

She felt very stupid calling, "Hello?" to the marsh. But she tried for a while anyway.


	24. Recipe for Disaster

Another Orc, another inn. Life had a funny sense of humour. Or was that Sheogorath, messing with her?

Athene had tracked down The Gourmet to The Nightgate Inn, a warm building in one of the coldest stretches of roads she'd travelled. Some way between Whiterun and Windhelm, it boasted a lakeside dock and no boats. Even high summer in Skyrim wouldn't raise the temperature enough to entice her to swim. But it was a pretty place all the same. And the Orc, undercover as a writer of some kind, couldn't stop talking about his recipes.

"See, it's all about the seasoning." He waved his arms around with excitement and nearly upset Athene's mead. "Texture is important, and it's nice to feel full, but if your aftertaste lingers it had better be good."

She'd spent days searching the marshes around Morthal for signs of Babette or Falion, or Agni, and found nothing. She'd even camped out in the abandoned shack where Astrid had kidnapped her, in case she could see or hear something through the cracks in its walls—a traveller keeping clear of town, such as a small vampire or a runaway mage. Nothing. Finally she'd had to content herself that Babette knew what she was doing, and carried on with the job.

"What about the Potage de Magnifique? Its aftertaste is divine." Athene sighed as if remembering stews long past. The Orc, whose unlikely name was actually Balagog gro-Nolog, hadn't realized she knew who he was. He took every comment she made about his food like she was mentioning it because they were both fans of The Gourmet.

"Ahh, the best of the best," he said.

"Why is that?" she prompted.

He leaned closer, blowing fragrant breath into her face that revealed he'd been experimenting with garlic that evening. "I believe a Septim is added, right at the end of cooking."

Athene grinned at him. Either he was the best liar she'd met, or incredibly lucky for keeping his secrets so long. She would have believed both. It didn't much matter. Skill or luck, it was about to abandon him.

Suddenly the Orc was leaning closer still.

"You have excellent taste," he said. "I can tell."

"Absolutely." She tried to stop herself from breathing in but finally gasped and suffered further garlic treatment.

He was bent over the table now, coming out of his chair.

"I have some recipe books downstairs, in my... room."

"Ah," said Athene.

"I could show them to you."

She supposed it would have been quicker and less messy just to wait in his room and slit his throat in his sleep. But Athene had been curious about The Gourmet, what he was really like, and what she'd learned in the last few hours had been highly entertaining. It occurred to her suddenly that most of her mistakes happened after she succumbed to her intense curiosity. Oh well.

"I'd like to see them." She simpered and shrugged and let Balagog take her hand. The innkeeper, Hadring, had been occupied with a group of Imperial soldiers for most of the evening and didn't see them pass the counter. Perfect.

She pretended to stumble on the stairs and held his shoulder. The light was suitable in the basement, all shadows and corners. He got her to his room and to her surprise began pulling out books and flipping through pages. She'd thought it was a ruse, but he was stabbing at recipes and explaining how this one had the preparation down but that one revealed just the perfect way to brown the top of the pheasant.

"You really love it, don't you?" she said.

"Oh, yes!"

"And you're going to love cooking for the Emperor."

"Oh—no. I have no idea what you mean."

"It's okay. You don't have to admit it because I already know, Gourmet."

"Aww..." He squirmed and began shoving the books back onto shelves and into drawers. "I really don't know what you're talking about."

"You really are a great chef," Athene said, feeling guilty as suddenly as she'd felt curious before. She shouldn't have gotten to know this one. Another mistake. Oh well.

She reminded herself why she was doing this. She was going to murder the Emperor. She was going to make history with her blade.

Images of Agni and Cicero came to mind. Farkas, and the cellar in Falion's house.

"Do you have a recipe for the Potage de Magnifique?" she said.

"Of course I don't. The Gourmet doesn't write that one down."

"Do you have... a few other recipes, that maybe The Gourmet used to put it together? Something that might have given him the idea for the Septim?"

Wariness warred with his previous enthusiasm. But enthusiasm won out, as she knew it would, and Balagog turned to hunt through his books again.

"Somewhere here," he muttered.

Maybe she was feeling torn because she saw that he was an artist, and in her silliest daydreams that what she thought of herself, too. She was a killer, but she was careful. Her mark never knew what was going to happen. There was no fear, no pain, just the moment of ending. She counted herself better than all the soldiers the Empire commanded, because if they'd stop bludgeoning people with blunt swords and let her do the job there would be much less fear and the job would be done already.

The job. Yes, of course.

"Aha!" Balagog said. "Here's one. Where I... Where The Gourmet first realized that the combination of Nirnroot and carrots gave such a unique flavour to Slaughterfish sauce—"

It was the last cooking advice he'd ever give. The last bit of brilliance he was allowed. Athene stepped behind him and drew her dagger back from his jaw, feeling a jerk at her wrist as his flesh caught the blade, seeing no immediate change except a spray of red across the recipe he'd held up for her to see.

She caught the book before it dropped from his hand, and shoved it in her backpack before she shoved his body into the basement's shadows.


	25. The Family

The normal thing to do would be to celebrate after the deed had been done. But what remained of Skyrim's Dark Brotherhood was, as individuals and as a whole, not concerned with being normal. So on the eve before Athene headed out to kill the Emperor, they threw a party to rouse Sithis from his void.

Arnbjorn had scrounged some hardy Nord mead from Falkreath, and Gabrielle presented a table full of snacks she promised weren't poisonous: toasted, fried, battered, breaded, all kinds of everything so long as you didn't ask what critter had been cooked. Veezara provided Argonian Ale he claimed was difficult to find even in Black Marsh, and Festus Krex magicked up an undead band. Even Liz, the spider, ventured out of her pit to witness the fuss.

Astrid and her husband showed their well-hidden affection for each other by dancing to the band. While the rest threw well-intentioned teasing their way, Athene pulled Nazir aside.

"Any word from Babette?" she said.

"Yes, as it happens. She sent me a letter."

Athene frowned. "To the sanctuary?"

"Of course not. We have a courier who leaves correspondence to Dead Man's Drink, in town. She sent the letter there."

"Where is it? I'd like to read it."

His nostrils flared. "It was addressed to me. All you need to know is that she's alive and well. That's all she asked me to tell you, anyway."

She wondered if his attitude was due to whatever Babette had told him about Morthal and Agni, or if it was something else.

"I have a funny idea," she said. "Is there something going on between you and Babette?"

She didn't think his nostrils could get any wider, but there, they did.

"Mind your own business."

"Not very original, Nazir."

"Unless you want me to make comments about the company you've been keeping in Whiterun–"

"Ah, never mind," she said quickly.

Festus had cut in and was dancing with Astrid.

Nazir shook his head. "You know, for all the trouble it caused, this contract has done us a lot of good."

"You mean the necklace?" They'd discovered the amulet Motierre had given them belonged to a member of the Emperor's Elder Council, and was worth a small fortune.

"No, not the money, though that's sure to help out. I mean look at this place. More lively than ever. And for a group of assassins, that's saying something. It feels…"

They watched Veezara swing Gabriella around in what he claimed was a traditional Argonian dance. The alchemist was eyeing his roving tail with some concern.

"Like a family," Nazir finished.

"It didn't before?"

"Before it felt like we were hiding from something. We were so aware of being the last sanctuary in Tamriel. Now that doesn't feel so precarious."

Athene was silent. She'd been to Whiterun again since killing The Gourmet, not to see her "werewolf crush," but to visit Oleeva the Feeble. The woman had given her a fortune she would never forget.

Blood, she'd said. So much blood.

Veezara had finished torturing Gabriella and came over to shove a bottle of mead into Athene's hand.

"For tonight," he said, "Death keeps its own council."

She clinked her bottle against his own. "For tonight," she agreed.

Nazir thought the family was safe. Athene wondered if they ever could be. But she grinned large and agreed to a dance with Veezara, and kept her worries to herself because for one night they should be allowed to celebrate, even if they were celebrating an uncertain future. 


	26. To Kill an Empire

Astrid provided Jarrin Root, a poison that would send the Emperor quickly to his death. But Athene had other ideas. The blade she'd carried since arriving in Skyrim was more than a tool, it was part of her routine.

Though Gianna, Castle Dour's chef, was making it awfully easy to use the poison. Athene probably could have thrown a whole Skeever into the pot and she would have agreed.

"I knew you'd be a wood elf," she gushed. "Only someone with a knowledge of woodland herbs could–"

"Enough!" Athene could hear the Emperor and his guests upstairs. It was no surprise that everything he said was followed with polite laughter. Here was the Empire at its finest: dull, pandering, and totally unaware of the doom that strode toward it.

"Of course, of course." They were making The Gourmet's Potage Le Magnifique, and what luck that Athene had spoken to Balagrog gro-Nolob and knew how to throw it together. Of course no one was going to get to enjoy it, but getting it right anyway seemed like an appropriate homage to the dead Orc.

Another reason that using the Jarrin Root just seemed wrong.

"And finally," Athene said, rummaging through the kitchen drawers. "A Septim!"

Gianna's enthusiasm faded a little. "A… Septim? The coin?"

"Yes. It's all about the seasoning, you see, and you have to give it the right aftertaste."

"Of course! The metallic taste."

Athene nodded. "Yes. And also, you know, the whole Emperor thing."

Gianna chuckled. "Pity the last Septim Emperor was assassinated then, hey?"

"You might not want to mentioned that at the table."

They pulled the pot off the fire and Gianna carried it up the stairs while Athene tried to arrange herself into something calm that approximated a chef. Gianna might have been fooled by even an Orc walking through the door, but in a room full of Penitus Oculatus and royalty the pressure was on.

As they stepped through the doorway the guests fell silent.

"Ahh, The Gourmet!" the Emperor said. "It's a pleasure to meet you. And your food!"

Laughter. Smiles.

He was a small man, shrunk further by his furred robes. Athene looked at him and thought of everything the Empire had done, and not done, for Valenwood. She thought about the soldiers who'd tried to cut off her head at the Skyrim border. She looked in the Emperor's eyes and didn't see any knowledge, any great prescience that would excuse the mess they'd made in Tamriel over the last centuries.

She'd wondered if she'd be overwhelmed by what she was going to do. Turned out, she was barely bothered.

He tasted the stew. "Magnifique!" he said.

Laughter, smiles.

Athene stabbed him in the back. The shock on his face reflected onto his guests, and the assassin was reminded of murdering Vittoria Vici and what a mess that had been. But this time she was prepared. She'd known she wouldn't get out of the room undetected, so when the Emperor's head slammed down into his bowl of Potage she shoved the guard nearest her and went for the door. She heard Gianna's cry as the chef was blamed, and killed, behind her. That was a shame. But there was no time for regret as Athene fell through onto the parapets overlooking Solitude, feet pounding onto stone as she made for the stairs. Astrid had promised the way would be clear.

The way was not clear. She stopped short as Penitus Oculatus guards lined the walkway, surrounding her.

A slow clap began from a window. Commander Maro.

"That man was the most insufferable decoy the Emperor has ever employed," he said.

Athene's body numbed as disappointment and failure washed through her.

She had no idea how much worse it could get.

"Surprised? So was I, when a member of your family came to me with the plan. I get you, and the Dark Brotherhood gets to continue."

Her mind raced. A member of her family? She thought Cicero, and then Babette, their whereabouts unknown. But she couldn't see it.

The Emperor's murder was a boon for the Dark Brotherhood. Why would anyone want to stop it? Who would trade it for a deal with one of the Emperor's own men? How could anyone trust Maro over her own family? Who was that stupid?

"But you know what? I've changed my mind. You lot killed my son. And I'm going to kill you and each and every last one of you."

See?, she thought. Stupid.

"Your sanctuary is being destroyed right now." He barked a laugh. "How does it feel?"

"Come down here and I'll show you," Athene said. 


	27. Death Incarnate

Shadowmere scented blood when they were still a good way from the Falkreath. Athene reigned her in and scolded a while, then realized it would do no good. If the horse had half a chance she'd run through the sanctuary, a spectre of vengeance. So Athene apologized and tied her up near a fort, promising to return as soon as possible.

The glowing red eyes were more hurt than angry. She tried to ignore it and hurried on.

She had no doubt Maro had told the truth. The man had scarpered by the time she'd cut through his soldiers, and even the fact that she'd survived told her what she needed to know: the best of his guards were here, at her sanctuary. They'd gone on ahead and she was too late.

Stop thinking that way, she told herself. What good does it do?

What good would it do to think positively?, her mind snapped right back.

She was going mad. Mad as Cicero. She wouldn't know anything until she saw it. Couldn't know–

Voices carried through the woods. Athene dropped down and listened to the Penitus Oculatus, and realized a whole new layer of hate.

"Is that all of them?"

"I think so. Should we go on in?"

"They can take care of it."

"You afraid?"

"Of a dungeon full of assassins? What's there to be afraid of? Ha ha. Er."

"Yeah, yeah. Well… Maybe we should stay out here. Keep guard in case someone else arrives."

"Good idea."

"What was that?" One of the guards leaned into a bush by the side of the clearing. 'That' had been a stone Athene threw.

The other guard made no sound as he was pulled back out of the clearing, dead in seconds.

"Huh. I guess it was nothing. Hey, I… Hey. Where'd you go?"

The second guard saw Athene coming, but he didn't have time to drawn his sword before he was down.

Festus Krex greeted her at the black door. His body greeted her, pinned to a tree with dozens of arrows, arms up and face grotesque with fear and blood. Athene closed her eyes, gave herself one moment to mourn, and then went for the door.

Someone had told their enemy the password to get in. Again she thought of Cicero, kicked out of the club, abandoning the Night Mother. But the Night Mother was still there, inside–or she had been. Athene had let Cicero live. Was this how he'd repaid her? She still didn't buy it. If nothing else, it made too much sense. If Cicero was going to take his revenge it should seem more… insane.

Through the black door it was an inferno. The heat threatened to melt her armor to her body, curling the ends of her hair and stabbing into her eyes. How long could anything survive in here? Was that it, then? They were all dead?

The sounds of battle beyond the entryway led her on.

She took down two more guards, then saw movement through the flames. A werewolf battled with four guards, and killed three before the last stabbed him in the heart. Athene finished his murderer and checked for signs of life, but Arnbjorn had gone on to Hircine's hunting grounds. This time she didn't give herself a moment to mourn. This time she raced on and found Gabriella's body beside Lis, the woman and the spider both crushed and bloodied.

A shout from the kitchen told her Nazir still lived. For now.

Running through flames, Athene hoped Babette hadn't yet returned. She was also glad she'd given away that particular gift. She felt baked already. With vampire blood she'd be toast.

Nazir had been backed into a corner by the bedrooms. Athene slashed her dagger through his attacker and locked eyes with the Redguard.

"Thank you," he said, sounding oddly calm.

"We've been betrayed."

"I noticed that."

"It wasn't me."

"I believe you. Let's talk about it later, shall we? I miss Hammerfell's warmth, but this is a bit much."

The way she'd come was blocked by flame. They pushed forward through the sleeping area and came to the room with the Night Mother.

"Dammit! There must be a way through," Nazir said.

Athene was looking at the ground. There were three dead Penitus Oculatus, and one other body.

"Any ideas?" Nazir was asking.

No, no ideas. Nothing came to mind because the last body was Veezara. His scales were nearly black and his eyes were slit, seeing nothing but the void. Veezara, her friend. Suddenly issues of trust seemed small. Suddenly the idea of friend was very simple, easy, and lying dead at her feet.

The coffin that held the Night Mother was open. Athene drifted into her mother's embrace and begged for silence and darkness and oblivion.

The coffin slammed shut around her again.


	28. Confession, Reprise

The darkness was a balm and a drug, and Athene slept while the sanctuary seemed to destroy itself with crashes and explosions some distance from the Night Mother's coffin. Everything felt some distance away: her murder of the false Emperor, Maro's speech, Veezara's body–Everything had happened to another person, possibly someone in a legend she'd heard a thousand years after their death.

That was what they said about the Dragonborn, wasn't it? Dragons, shouts, legends of old. She should have realized sooner.

Voices strained through her dreams.

"She's in there, Nazir, I can tell!"

"I'm digging as fast as I can…"

Scrapes and scratches came closer and Athene knew it was only minutes until she'd be wrenched back to reality. She felt through the black for the Night Mother's gnarled hand, and grasped it.

"You must see Astrid," the Night Mother whispered. "In the sanctuary."

"I don't want to," Athene mumbled.

Her mother had nothing more to say.

The door to the coffin was wrenched open.

Nazir and Babette stared at her. Behind them she saw the coffin had fallen through the stained glass window and down by the pool. It might have been the only thing that saved her from being cooked.

That, and the will of Sithis. That bastard.

"Whoa! Take it slow," said Nazir.

She must look awful. "Astrid," Athene said.

"You poor thing," said Babette. Wherever she'd been must have shrunk in importance next to the destruction of their family. Was that a blessing?

Athene pushed past them both and went up the stairs to Astrid's room. At first she couldn't see anything, but then a groan sounded and she looked at the burned ground. There was more to it than she'd seen. The ground moved, and it had eyes. It was Astrid, burned black as the soil.

Athene found no words.

"I'm sorry," Astrid wheezed. "I made the deal to get rid of you. I wanted things to be… the way they were. Before you, Listener. I thought you had ruined… It doesn't matter."

She squirmed and Athene could feel the pain of the burns. Despite the anger and sickness that was rising in her throat–Astrid was the betrayer! She'd doubted everyone, even Cicero, and Astrid was the one who'd sold them out!–she winced at the cracking flesh, the sound of parchment that whispered when Astrid moved.

"Do you see? I am the Black Sacrament. I have prayed to the Night Mother. Listener… you must kill me."

The Blade of Woe, the badge of Astrid's poorly-kept office, lay beside her on the floor. Athene took it and heard Nazir and Babette in the passage behind her.

"That's why you didn't care that I'd gone to Motierre against your orders? You'd already planned this?"

Astrid's eyes, the only part of her that wasn't blackened, closed for a moment. Then they flashed opened and Athene witnessed part of the passion that had let her be the Dark Brotherhood's leader when all of Tamriel had pushed them to extinction.

"Kill me," she said.

Athene hesitated. She held the Blade of Woe, a fitting prize, and thought about walking out. Rejecting the contract, bound in blood and announced by the Night Mother as it had been, and showing Astrid it was too late for redemption. Then she thought of Veezara's body again. The damned lizard–her friend–had trusted Astrid. He said she wasn't always reasonable but she was leader. He'd taken a blade for his leader, too.

So for no other reason but that, Athene stabbed Astrid in the heart. The woman died quickly.

"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard it for myself," Babette said.

"Did you find Falion?"

The remaining assassins seemed to shake themselves at the abrupt change of topic.

"He's dead," Babette said slowly.

"And Agni?"

"Not dead. Not alive, either. Not happy about it. Athene, we need to cure her, the way you were cured."

"You killed that option when you killed Falion."

The little vampire scowled at her. "Did I say I killed him?"

"It doesn't matter. There's no way, now."

"Wait–"

"No. Nazir, take what you can scrounge from here."

He dragged his eyes from the burnt corpse of his leader. "Are we going somewhere?"

Athene shrugged. "Go wherever you like. I'm done here."

"Will the Night Mother say anything else?"

"I don't know. And I don't care." 


	29. The Best Laid Plans

Did she feel lighter? Athene stalked out of the Falkreath sanctuary, past Nazir and Babette's stunned silence and into a pure cold night. She looked up at the stars above, the remnants of the Northern Lights flashing green over the trees. Was there a weight coming off her shoulders, letting her breathe again after so much pain? Did she feel lighter, or was she just a bit dizzy because everything she'd built up in the blasted country so far had burned to ash?

Red eyes glared, and she just about fell over as Shadowmere bumped her with his nose.

"You didn't stay tied up," she said.

The look he gave her said, Of course not, you fool.

"Well, your mistress is dead. You can go in there and see for yourself or you can come with me. What do you say?"

It didn't feel strange, giving a horse a choice. So it didn't feel strange when he huffed and bumped her again, then looked expectantly northeast.

"Yes. Whiterun first. I agree." Athene pulled herself up and let Shadowmere take her lead, listening the forest around them silent as death. Either the fight at the sanctuary had scared off the wildlife, or she was scaring them, the fury radiating off her.

They bypassed both Falkreath and Riverwood, and the guards made no move to investigate. They might have been told by Maro to keep clear of anything going on that night. Or they were lazy.

It seemed whatever happened now, she was going to wonder if there was something more to it. Great: because she needed to be more paranoid.

They came to Whiterun's stables at dawn. Athene left Shadowmere grazing and dared someone to stop her at the gate and ask about the ash on her skin or her singed clothes and hair. No one did. Adrianne was already at her forge outside Warmaiden's, and gave Athene a good price for the Imperial swords she'd taken off the attackers she'd killed. Still, no questions. She bought a room at The Bannered Mare and spent an hour in the bath. Left her hide armor at the side of the tub, and put on her new choice.

Red and grey Penitus Oculatus armor. Light, strong, and representative of so much more than anyone might guess.

On her way out of the inn she saw Amaund Motierre drinking at the bar. She wondered what role he'd had in the betrayal, and figured probably none. The deal had been between Astrid and Maro. Motierre had performed the Black Sacrament for real, and likely wanted the real Emperor dead. Or perhaps he thought the job was finished.

Athene decided to find out.

"Good morning!" She put all the cheer she could fake into the greeting.

He sputtered. "I… You… I thought you were dead!"

"Disappointed?"

"No! It's just…" He looked around and then noticed her armor. "You know they say the Dark Brotherhood has been destroyed?" he whispered. "All of it?"

"It has," said Athene. "All of it."

"So that's it then?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Emperor, he's in Skyrim now. On his ship near Solitude."

She gritted her teeth. "So? I'm dead."

He frowned, and then his mouth quirked, and then he was smiling. "Ah! I get it! Oh ho ho, this is excellent."

"Is it?"

"You're dead! But here you are! They say the Brotherhood is gone, but here you are, and the Emperor is waiting! I love it. It's… genius!"

Athene scowled. "It is?"

"I had my doubts, of course I did, but not anymore. Your plan is obviously more clever than I could have anticipated. My friend…" He held out his hand, and when she didn't move he reached out and took hers, and shook it. "Good for you."

"Yeah. Good for me." 


	30. A Decision

Jorrvaskr was a place created by heroes, for heroes to come. It was full of relics, sweaty armor, and fast-flowing mead. Its hall was made for drinking songs and boasting. And early in the morning it was deserted, the heroes all sleeping off their adventures (and their mead.) Sneaking through was simplicity. Finding Farkas' room was nearly as easy, since Athene recognized his growling snore.

She let herself into his room, closed the door behind her, and turned to find it wasn't him at all but his twin brother Vilkas. And Vilkas had opened his eyes.

"What's this? A present from the Emperor?"

She backed up into the door. "Wrong room."

"You were looking for Farkas? That's okay. We share everything."

She felt for her blade and kept it hidden but ready.

Vilkas stood, leered, then let out a laugh.

"Relax, elf. I'm kidding with you. Though I could do much more, after you've being sneaking around the place. Count yourself lucky. What do you want with my brother?"

"That's between him and me."

"Is it? We don't have secrets from each other, elf. Whatever you're planning with that knife, you can share with me, too."

He casually set his hand on the battleaxe leaning beside his bed.

Athene relaxed his grip on her blade and showed her empty hands.

"That's better," he said.

He took a step to the door. She took a breath and moved aside.

Then in a movement quicker than she'd have believed he grabbed her arms and shoved her to the wall.

"You're an assassin? Is that it?" he said. His breath hit her face.

She snarled. "Let me go."

"You think that's likely? Skulking around our home. Skulking around our country!"

Athene tried to squirm away but he was as strong as his brother and determined. There was no way.

"Farkas!" she yelled.

If nothing else, it made Vilkas' eyes wide with surprise. But it also had the right effect, and a heartbeat later his twin burst into the room.

"Athene," he said. "Vilkas? What..?"

"You know this elf?" Vilkas hadn't relaxed his grip on her arms but he stopped crushing her into the wall.

Athene gulped breath.

"I do." Farkas scuffed his foot against the floor. He was in his bedclothes and his hair stuck up from all sides of his head. Even identical to his brother he was ten times better to look at.

Oh Sithis, Athene thought. I do have a bloody crush.

The epiphany made her intensely grouchy.

"I just wanted to talk," she spat.

"Sure, that makes sense. Sneak in here with a dagger and you just wanted to talk."

"Brother," Farkas said. "Come on. Let her go."

Vilkas made a noise of distaste and dropped her arms. He shoved her towards the door.

"Next time knock," he said.

Athene sneered at him and strode out of the room.

"This way." Farkas showed her to his room, just across the hall, and sat on the edge of the bed.

She crossed her arms and looked at him. He was still sleepy, his eyes lidded. Found her in his brother's room, getting interrogated, and he wasn't totally awake. Stupid man.

He put up with her glare for a little while and then patted the bed beside him.

"What's up?"

There was no way she was sitting down.

"I have a dilemma."

"A… problem? You came to me with a problem?"

She shrugged.

"If it's bashing in a head, I can help."

"It's not. It's more complicated than that."

"A complicated dilemma, and you came to me?" He rolled his shoulders. "Wow. That's just… wow."

"I don't need you to calculate sums, I just need someone to… Oh, for Gods' sake. I just need a friendly ear."

Now she was blushing. She could feel it, and it made it happen faster. She felt as if her head would burst into flame.

"All right then. Tell me." So easy. As if he didn't even realize how difficult it had been to ask him for help.

How beautiful, that simplicity. It was what she'd come for, after all. The feeling of satisfaction she'd had during their run, when nothing else mattered but the ground and the sky. He exuded it, seemed to breathe it. She wanted it so much.

"I have a choice to make," she said. "I have a job I was supposed to do, and it's become very… Well, complicated. I don't know if I can do it, but I know if I do it'll be difficult and change everything. It's also following a path I'm not sure I can walk. I thought so, but lately I wonder if I made a bad choice. If I wasn't ever meant to be where I am now. That sounds pathetic, I know."

"Naw," said Farkas. "It sounds human. Sorry. I mean, it sounds normal."

She stared at him. Then she sat next to him on the bed.

"So that's one option. The other one is to go to High Hrothgar and see what the Greybeards want with me. Again, I'm not sure this is right. People tell me it is, you've told me it is, but I'm still not convinced. I was going to do it anyway, but then I found out I could finish this job, and… I'm not sure what to do."

"So, finish the job or walk the 7000 steps?"

"That's about it."

"Finish the job," Farkas said.

"What?" She looked at him. "Just like that?"

He leaned over and kissed her. She was so surprised by it that she didn't stop him. He smelled like dust and dog and heather, and he was warm. For a second her choices were blasted out of her mind.

Then he stopped kissing her and she saw it was his turn to blush.

"Sorry," he said. "I got carried away."

"Yeah." She didn't trust herself to say anything else.

"I say finish the job because that's how I was raised. You don't leave something undone if you can do it. I know I said go to High Hrothgar and you still should, but they've been waiting this long. What's a while longer? If you're going to do a thing, you should do it right. Eyes on the prey, not the horizon."

"Yeah." She didn't care that she sounded stupid. The man everyone said was stupid had just said something incredibly smart. She let that wash over her.

"So."

"So."

They sat for a while. Athene felt split into two people. One was angry. She'd been sure Farkas would tell her to go to High Hrothgar. Maybe if she'd told him the truth about her job, he would. He couldn't really support murdering the Emperor. But then, that was her job. Without knowing the details he'd told her the truth of it. She had to finish the job.

The other person she contained, the other aspect of herself, was satisfied. She had known she needed to finish the job. Now the guy who'd pushed her in another direction was telling her the same thing. And anyway, he had kissed her. So that was interesting. And… what was she thinking?

He was a distraction. A big, stupid, annoying, hard, delicious distraction.

Athene stood up.

"So what are you going to do?" Farkas said. He looked totally awake now.

Athene smiled. 


	31. Hail Sithis!

The Katariah was moored in the harbour beneath Solitude, creaking in the lap of a rising tide. Athene smelled the salt as the deck baked beneath the afternoon sun. She heard the cry of sea birds that had chosen the ship as their temporary island, riding the currents near the masthead.

The deck was empty, save for ghosts. The remains of a dozen guards lay as if sleeping, seasoning the wood slats with their blood.

It wasn't all her doing. When she'd come out from below deck, blinking in the harsh light, a dragon had already been skimming down over the northern mountains to spray fire across the ship. Engrossed in this flying distraction, most of the guards were burned alive or met Athene's blade without realizing what was happening. She'd already taken care of the guards in the rest of the ship. Most of them had been too relaxed with the knowledge that the Dark Brotherhood and Gaius Maro's plot had been eradicated. Now the distant road of a bored, retreating dragon was barely audible beneath the creaking wood of the Emperor's ship, and that was all.

It was named for Empress Katariah, wife of the famous Emperor Palagius the Mad. She'd been a Dark Elf, a Dunmer, and one of the more controversial as well as the more successful rulers during that time. She'd reigned for nearly half a century, fixing a lot of what her crazy husband had broken throughout Tamriel. And after all that she'd died in a minor altercation in Black Marsh. Did the Shadowscales have something to do with that?

Why had Tidus Mede II named his ship after this Empress? Did he admire how she'd overcome racism to lead a unified Empire? That sounded about right, considering the state of the Empire today. It surely couldn't have been her petty death that inspired him.

There was nothing petty about the death Athene had dealt that day. She was second to last on a ghost ship, and the only other remaining soul was locked in his quarters with no idea she was coming.

Stepping quietly below, watching her footsteps so there would be nothing to alert him that his doom was prowling, she came to the door of the Emperor's quarters and examined the lock. It would be a tough one. No matter. She had plenty of picks, and all the time in the world. Unless the dragon came back and managed to burn right through the deck.

As she worked she let half her mind daydream about the murder to come. Should it be a sneak attack? He was an old man, but he'd once been a warrior, and she had no doubt he could defend himself. But it seemed like such an important kill she didn't want it happen without fanfare. Slit his throat in his sleep? Hardly a fitting ending for the Emperor of all of Tamriel. Like Katariah, dying far from home. A story for conspiracy theorists rather than bards.

The lock clicked. She was in. Taking a breath, composing herself fully, she pushed the door open on smooth hinges and peered within.

"Hello," the Emperor said. "Well, come in."

So much for a sneak attack.

"I'm not surprised to see you, no. I knew from the start I couldn't avoid my fate. Now you are here, and you will kill me. But perhaps you'll allow me one request?"

Athene checked the room. They were truly alone, and the Emperor appeared unarmed. Still, she wouldn't let herself relax, the way his Penitus Oculatus had relaxed, thinking their job done. Until he was dead, he wasn't dead. She satisfied herself any threat would come directly from the Emperor, picked a spot with her back to the wall, and crossed her arms.

"Just one request?"

He smiled. She looked in his eyes and saw everything that had been missing from his decoy's gaze: all the knowledge of the legacy he'd created, and the one he'd leave behind. All he'd accomplished and how he'd failed.

"Sure," she said. "It's been a slow day."

He snorted and turned to gaze out the coloured glass across the water to Skyrim. A land that had likely caused him a lot of pain, particularly recently. A land he'd been unable to control. It was no surprise what he said next, but it still made Athene gape.

"Kill Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Oh, is that all?"

"You think I jest. I do not. The man is a martyr already, and he isn't even dead. Perhaps if he were, we'd have some chance of laying to rest the spectre his name has become. While he lives he sends more and more of my people to their death. Some of them even think he's right."

She looked at the back of his fine robes with their fur trim. "You think killing Ulfric will stop all that?"

"No. Like any storm, the aftermath might be as bad as the storm itself. But at least we can start to rebuild."

"I assume you've tried this before, though."

"You have methods that might prove more successful than our previous efforts. Infiltration—"

"You don't have spies?"

"Of course we do. Often we hire them from you."

That was a revelation. Though again, not entirely surprising. Perhaps this was how Astrid had already been friendly with Commander Maro.

Funny, it didn't make her feel any better about that particular relationship.

"This isn't how it's done," Athene said. "There's a prayer, and… body parts. A contract bound in blood."

"I understand. I would perform your traditional ritual, but as you can see I've run out of time. I would appeal to you as an assassin anyway, pointing out that your Brotherhood has shaped the future for ages past, and that your work has served the good of Tamriel despite itself by stopping wars in their tracks, removing the mouthpieces that move the soldiers. But instead, let me appeal to you as a citizen of my Empire, a Bosmer who has perhaps seen firsthand what the Thalmor can do, and know that this civil war is exactly what they want to weaken us further."

"I've come to murder you," Athene said. "And you think to appeal to the good within me? Don't you think this is-"

"Foolish?" Titus Mede turned his head and his smile reached his eyes. "Mad?"

She fought the urge to check the room again, and see if Cicero was hidden somewhere, giggling into his hand.

"Yes, that," she said.

"It's a small hope," he said. "I know this. Payment for the deed has already been delivered to your associate in Riften. I leave it in your hands."

He turned again to the window. His back was to Athene.

"I guess it's time," he said.

She didn't make him wait any longer.


	32. Reunion

In an inn called Dead Man's Drink, the only place to get truly drunk in Falkreath hold, a Redguard and a little girl sat in a corner. The man accepted every drink Narri brought to him. The little girl had been offered a glass of milk and refused it with a snarl.

Here were two people who were obviously displaced. Wherever they used to call home, it was gone now. However they used to pass the time was no longer an option. They had each other, and from the well-used scimitar hanging from the Redguard's hip and the slight glow in the girl's eyes, a spectator would be smart to believe they'd end up all right. But in the meantime…

The locals kept well clear of the pair. The most dangerous creature was a creature displaced from its home and habits.

The door to the inn opened to admit one more patron. Every pair of eyes looked around. Most were only curious and looked away again quickly. The Redguard frowned. The little girl stood up.

"Hi," Athene said. "We have to talk."

In the corner of Dead Man's Drink she filled them in. Running into Motierre at Whiterun. The murder of the Katariah crew, and the discovery that Titus Mede II knew all about their plan. The payment they'd received, that she handed to Nazir, whose eyes were wide as the moons with the weight of it. And finally, the Emperor's last request.

"Not request," she amended. "His job offer. I went to Riften and had another chat with Mallory. Want to guess how much he was willing to pay for Ulfric's death?"

Babette's eyes flicked around the inn. The only way anyone could hear them was if they were invisible. She sniffed deeply. Nope–No one invisible nearby.

"Another twenty thousand," said Nazir. It was how much they'd been paid for Titus Mede II himself.

"Try again."

"A million," said Babette.

"Now you've just ruined it."

"Tell us," hissed Nazir.

"Fifty grand. Fifty thousand septims, and technically we've already been paid whether we do the job or not."

"Hang on." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "We? I thought we were done. The sanctuary is trashed. The Brotherhood is no more."

"The Brotherhood is the Night Mother, the Listener, one very clever vampire and the most lethal Redguard in Skyrim. That's not nothing."

"So we're doing this?" Babette sounded excited, like a kid who'd been promised ice cream and a pony. "We're still the Brotherhood?"

"It always bothered me that it was a Brotherhood. Maybe we should become the Dark Sisterhood."

"Don't joke," said Nazir.

Athene took a long drink of his mead. Narri hadn't served them since she walked in, and she wasn't surprised. There was some kind of dark energy around the group, and even she could feel it. It was as if the shadows grew deeper around them.

"Yes, the sanctuary is trashed," she said. "But it's not the only one in Skyrim. There's Dawnstar, and we know the password there. The money we've made will be more than enough to get it fixed up and I'm sure Mallory knows someone discrete to get it done."

"A new home," Babette whispered.

"For all of us," Athene agreed. "Including the Night Mother. And we don't have to say yes to this other job, I know that. Like I said, we've effectively already been paid. But do either of you think that's right? Taking the money and not doing the deed? Even if it wasn't presented to us by the usual route…"

"Did it get to you?" Nazir said. "His speech about creating the future, and sparing lives by murdering one man?"

"No," Athene said quickly. Too quickly. "Well, it didn't not get to me. I think he meant it and I think he was right. It doesn't mean I'll do the job for the reasons he gave it to me. I could do it for the money alone."

"Would you?"

Athene shrugged.

"Are you sure you want to do it yourself?" Babette said. "There are three of us."

"I thought of that too. But I think I'm the best choice of the three of us. Others have tried to murder Ulfric and they've never got close. A man who looks like a foreign mercenary is not going to be quickly trusted. Neither is a little girl with no reason to be at the Palace of the Kings, and he may have someone or several someones who can tell what you really are. No, I think I'm right for this. A wood elf has good reason to hate the Thalmor, well-known reasons, and I'll play on that and see where I can get to."

"On the other hand, his treatment of elves is legendary," Nazir said.

"I know." It actually turned her stomach. She was going to make nice with a man who considered her less than the dirt on his shoes. Depending on how things went, she was going to have to play very nice. Not for the first time she considered practicing her 'I don't hate you' face in front of a mirror.

Many things might have gone more smoothly if only she was better at that face.

"So this is the plan." Nazir was grinning. "We haul the Night Mother to Dawnstar and set up shop, and you infiltrate the Stormcloaks. Yadda yadda yadda, profit. That's it?"

"I suppose we could all become do-gooders instead, and wander from town to town looking for ways to help the general population," Athene said.

"I liked your first plan better."

"So did I." 


	33. Fighting the Good Fight

"What do you want, elf?"

The Palace of the Kings was guarded by two Stormcloaks who stood on either side of the massive door. It had also been guarded by all of Windhelm and its ugly stares, the freezing cold wind, and the Grey Quarter that loomed in the corner of Athene's gaze, reminding her what she was betraying by making this choice.

Eventually, they might thank her. Not today.

"I want to go inside," Athene said to the Stormcloak who'd questioned her. "See Ulfric."

"If I find your hand in my pocket I'll cut if off," he said. But he didn't stop her from entering the building.

It was past time for the townsfolk to bring their troubles before their Jarl. The palace was quiet save for a few nobles at the long table having a late lunch, and Jorleif, the steward. Ulfric Stormcloak slumped on his throne, his second in command at his side.

That second in command, Galmar Stone-Fist, was the only one who noticed Athene's arrival. He sneered.

"I'll die before I let elves dictate the fates of men," he said.

She thought the comment was just for her, but then the conversation with Ulfric continued.

"But why me?" Ulfric muttered. "Why fight for me?"

Athene wasn't in the mood to hear his moaning, but she did think it was a good question. Unfortunately he noticed her before anyone could answer.

"I remember you," he said.

She just about turned and ran. Instead she said, "I was at Helgen."

"Ah yes. Destined for the chopping block."

So were you, she thought. The last time she'd seen this man he'd been tied up and gagged, and his presence at the Cyrodiil border was what inspired the Imperials to behead the whole group without a trial. Athene had been caught up in his mess, and it hadn't endeared him to her at all.

She said, "Then you know one reason I've come here to fight for you."

"To fight the Empire that tried, and failed, to kill you? That's a weak excuse, for an elf."

"Do elves need stronger reasons to fight than any Nord?"

Galmar spoke up. "Why does a wood elf want to fight for Skyrim?"

"Oh, you only take Nords?"

"That isn't what I said."

"I realize you're universe begins and ends at the Skyrim border, but mine does not. At least it didn't until the Thalmor decided to murder my family and cast me out of my home. That's what we get with Imperial rule. Now that I have a chance to do so, I'd like to show how I appreciate their efforts."

Galmar looked to his Jarl, his King, with something in his face like disbelief. But Ulfric was gazing right at Athene, thoughtful.

"They took your home," he said.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"And now Skyrim is your home."

She remained silent.

His deliberation was a knife twisting in her gut, but finally, eventually, he nodded at Galmar.

"I think you can do something with her," he said. "Now, excuse me."

He got up from this throne and left the room. Left Athene standing staring at the Nord barbarian whose face twisted as he stared back.

"I can think of a lot of things I can do with you," he said. "But if Ulfric thinks there's something to you, we'll find out."

"Awfully decent of you, to follow your Lord's instructions." Was she pushing it? Athene didn't care. She thought it would have been more suspicious if she'd arrived meek and willing to lick their shoes.

He ignored her and continued. "There's a barracks in this palace that needs attention. See to it, make it shine. I'm sure Jorleif can show you where the buckets and soap are."

She gaped. "You're setting me to cleaning?"

"What's wrong, girl? Don't women work where you're from? The soldiers here deserve a clean place to be when they're not fighting the good fight. Show you respect that, show your dedication, and eventually you'll be one of them."

She'd expected physical labour. Something sure to kill her, not wear down her morale. He was a smart one after all.

No matter. She would be smarter.

"As you say." She turned her back on the barbarian and walked to Jorleif. Accepted the rags and bucket of frothy water he found for her, and dragged it to the barracks. Started work.

Here was the girl, the elf, who had murdered the Emperor of Tamriel. A bit of tidying up wasn't going to break her.

She cleaned until her back ached and her hands were red and raw. Stretching, standing, getting out of the way of the soldiers that had come to lay in the beds she'd made, Athene looked around and realized there was no extra bed for her. Fine. She replaced the bucket where Jorleif had showed her and pushed out of the palace. She'd stay at Candlehearth Hall until she'd been accepted as a real Stormcloak, and given her space. It would be brighter there anyway, and a relief to leave the oppressive atmosphere of Ulfric's court.

As she walked to the inn she passed Brunwulf Free-Winter, who she'd drunk with at the docks what felt like a lifetime ago. She tried to get by without his notice, but he reached out a hand and stopped her short.

"Is it true?" he said quietly. "Did you join them?"

She looked in his eyes. Wanted to say, and knew she couldn't.

He breathed out and shook his head. "I don't get it, lass. I don't and I never will." But he dropped her arm and let her go, the creaks and cries of the Grey Quarter a symphony at his back.

It took her hours to get to sleep that night. 


	34. The Maid

Their leader was a racist, his second in command a barbarian, but Athene quickly found the Stormcloaks themselves were mostly regular people. It was disarming, which bothered her.

At first they teased her about cleaning the barracks. "You missed a spot," was a favourite, as well as, "When you're finished with that, my boots need a good polish." And at first she grit her teeth, but soon realized there was a marked lack of other kinds of teasing. No one mentioned that she was an elf. In fact, there were more than a few elves already within the ranks, some of them Dunmer, and at least two who'd lived in the Grey Quarter for years. They were just as accepted by the other soldiers as any Nord.

There was even an Argonian, Longs-for-Stars, and when Athene asked her what she thought of Ulfric not allowing her kin into the city walls, she shrugged. "Right now Skyrim needs solidarity. We'll deal with the Empire and when our home is safe we can deal with each other."

Athene wasn't sure if this was dreadfully short-sighted or commendably focussed on the task at hand.

The teasing was mild, and it began to segue into other things. Questions about her homeland, and the family she'd lost. Delicately put, by people quick to offer some of themselves in return: stories of Imperial troops getting carried away in a skirmish, or Thalmor ordering executions for nothing more than a muttered phrase: "By the nine." The stories that had pushed them to take up arms against their ruling government were not dissimilar to Athene's, apart from the fact that she used hers as a veil for her true intentions.

A week went by cleaning the Stormcloak's floors and neatening their beds, and Athene found she didn't resent any of them. She spent her own nights at Candlehearth Hall, sneaking out of the Palace of the Kings after dark so she didn't have to look Brunwulf Free-Winter in the eye, or run into Dalan Merchad—an even more awkward prospect. Before the sun rose each day she was back with Jorleif, looking for more work.

One day he said to her, "See Galmar. He's been looking for you."

She didn't like that she felt weak when she heard this. She'd become used to routine, beds then dishes then floors, and used to spending her spare time poking through the castle to find weak spots where she might be able to surprise Ulfric on his own. Used to anonymity.

She put her shoulders back and went to find Ulfric's second in command.

The Jarl was slouched on his throne, as usual. Two Nord men were yelling about a dragon attack near Kynesgrove. Well, not attack exactly. When questioned further they admitted they'd only seen it from a distance, but it had scared them enough that they demanded to know what he'd do to protect them. Would he use his Shout, the one that killed High King Torryg, and blow the beast apart? Would he send his Stormcloaks to fend off the menace?

As Athene passed the throne he gave her a long look, ignoring the Nord fools. She ignored him.

Galmar stood in the war room, leaning over a map.

"You need something cleaned?" Athene said.

"From what I hear, you've been through the whole castle already. Good work."

Was he actually commending her on her use of soap? She waited for something worth a response.

"I'm sending you to Serpentstone Isle. It's where men have long tested their strength."

"What do women do there?"

"They kill an ice wraith and prove their worth, then return to me. If they survive."

"Right. Sure. I'm off to kill an ice wraith, then."

He snorted. She turned away.

This was more what she expected: a task she probably couldn't manage, that would likely kill her before she had half a chance to get close to Ulfric. She'd never even heard of Serpentstone Isle, but she'd get directions from someone less likely to want her dead. Maybe Wuunfurth the Unliving, the court wizard. He'd been more or less polite to her and usually left the room while she scrubbed his floor, demonstrating some trust. He didn't think the elf maid was going to steal everything not nailed down.

And she was going to need some help. Most of her talent involved sneaking and killing before she was seen. Ice wraiths were wild creatures, and canny. The likelihood that she could sneak across a snowy plain and stab it before it saw her was small.

What was the likelihood Galmar would find out she'd taken a friend on her strength-testing quest?


	35. Joining

"It's coming again!"

Stenvar's normally deep voice was pitched high with panic. Athene tried to get herself up off the snowy ground, but her legs were numb and breathing hurt her bruised chest. She turned to see her mercenary shoved off his feet by an ice wraith, pitched five feet backward along a line of bright frost.

"I'm on my way. Just hold on."

She'd meant to yell, but it came out a whisper.

The glowing remains of another ice wraith slipped her up and she pitched forward too quickly. She got her blades up in time to use the weight of her body to sink them hard into the living wraith's hide. It felt like her hands had been plunged into ice water. The wraith hissed and spat, and spewing frozen guts into her face. Athene's eyeballs felt like ice and she reared back, too late realizing her knives were actually stuck in the monster.

It died with a crackle and a puff of intense cold, evaporating to nothing.

She dropped into the snow on her ass.

"Errgh," she groaned. "Stenvar? You still with me?"

A muffled grunt and the sound of a large body turning over was his reply. Then eventually: "I am. And pretty glad I got paid up front, to be honest."

Athene closed her eyes. They burned beneath her eyelids. Leave it to Galmar to fail to mention that Serpentstone Isle wasn't just home to an ice wraith. It was home to half a dozen ice wraiths that attacked on sight. Thank the divines she'd decided to bring a friend.

Not that the Nord warrior struggling to his feet in steel armor was exactly a friend. She'd seen him around Candlehearth Hall, offering his services, but he never bragged about past adventures no matter how many people paid him. So she hired him with the hope he'd be discrete.

If he'd died, she'd be assured of his silence. Still, she was glad enough he'd survived. She was starting to get a bit of a rush out of living through six ice wraiths and the frigid swim from the coast.

She stumbled to her feet and began sawing the teeth out of the creatures. All the creatures. If Galmar wanted proof, she'd give it to him. Even if he found out about Stenvar, that was six wraiths divided by two, three wraiths each. She'd proven something.

They made it back to the coast and set up camp some way from a group of horkers. The animals were grumpy but they'd make a fuss if some wolves came along, so they were a good alarm system.

As well as being a fighter, Stenvar made a good Apple Cabbage Stew. Athene sat back, letting the fire dry her armor and warm her body while the smell of the stew drifted around her head. It was good to be out of Windhelm for a few days, and out of the room she'd been renting at the hall. It wasn't like the air in the city was any less fresh than out here, considering how the wind seemed to blow right through the stone walls, but being away reminded her that she wasn't actually a wannabe Stormcloak. She had a larger purpose.

And the hiss of an ice wraith as it died had reminded her she was alive.

"What's your story?" she said to her mercenary, and chef, who dished up the stew.

"Eh? Er." He laughed quietly and handed her a bowl. "I don't have one."

"Everyone has a story."

"Oh yeah? What's yours?"

"Not fair. You haven't even answered my question yet."

"Yeah. Well, I guess I'm just a guy who hangs around in pubs until pretty women give them money."

"Nice deflection."

"Thanks."

"That's odd, you know," she said. "Flirting with an elf. And you being a good Windhelm Nord and all."

"If you think all Nords in Windhelm are the same, you haven't been there long enough."

Athene shrugged. "Have you?"

"I grew up there."

"Is it very different, thanks to the civil war?"

"It hasn't changed much my whole life, to be honest. There have always been the dark elves around, and the Argonians outside. Jarl Ulfric's father ruled much like his son does now. And it snows. And snows. The main difference is the Stormcloaks. They used to be regular men and women who complained about the Empire. Now they wear uniforms and complain even louder."

He glanced at her, blowing on her stew.

"No offence," he said.

"None taken. Spend some time in the barracks and see how often the Empire gets put down. Its ears must be burning."

That was a stupid thing to say, Athene thought. She busied herself slurping dinner.

Stenvar nodded. "I bet. How do they treat you? You know, because you're an elf."

"Strangely, people are decent."

"I don't know why they wouldn't be anyway. I spent tonnes of time in the Grey Quarter when I was a kid. No one was anything but nice to me. There was this one, Casimir, used to give me some sweet. It was—what was it? This sticky sweet, kind of reddish, on bread?"

"Are you kidding? How should I know? Do I look like a Dunmer?"

"Sorry."

The silence became irritating.

Athene sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. I just get that kind of thing a lot. Bosmer culture is about as close to the Dunmer as it is to the Nords."

"Yeah, I get it," he said quickly. "I didn't mean it."

"That's kind of a sign of how things are though, isn't it? You grew up in a city surrounded by elves, and you still don't differentiate between one or the other. I'm not trying to make you feel bad, but honestly. It shows you a lot about the place, doesn't it? Home of the Stormcloaks."

"You're the one who joined them," he said. "If that's how you feel, why'd you do it?"

"You know what? I didn't want to talk about this. Let's pretend we never did."

"Fine."

"Good."

The fire wasn't warming her any more, and she felt like a bit of a hypocrite eating his stew. But still, she ate it. And then she sipped her mead slowly, begging heat to flush through her limbs.

"We'd stay a lot warmer if we bundled up tonight," he said. "You know. Together."

It was tempting. Despite their argument—or perhaps because of it—she was feeling restless and bothered, and still stirred by up by the battle with the wraiths. She had this one night away from the Palace of the Kings and then back to pretending to be the model Empire-hater. This Nord didn't care what or who she was, and he was only borderline interested in her interest in the Stormcloaks. He was probably just being polite by asking about them. But he was definitely interested in something else.

That had long been her guide for a suitable partner: someone uninterested enough that their opinion of her mattered even less than her opinion of them. So much less complicated than trying to figure out whether Farkas would kiss her, and what it meant when he did.

Thinking of it that way, she wasn't sure it was such a great idea.

"All right," she said anyway, and scooted closer. It was, after all, possibly her last night of freedom for a while. And however her time with the Stormcloaks progressed, as soon as she stuck her blade into Ulfric things were going to get messy, quickly. Windhelm might no longer be an option for anything, let alone socializing.

Yeah. She was really overthinking this.

Stenvar was warm and enthusiastic. Tonight, that was enough.


	36. Fealty to the King

The ice wraith teeth hit the map, tinkling together like broken glass.

"Done. Next?" Athene put on a bored face and looked up at Galmar.

He boomed out a laugh. "Well, well. I didn't think you'd come back."

"No kidding. You sent me to my death."

"Not at all. But I wasn't convinced you were committed to the cause. Now I know. You're Stormcloak material after all."

The pride and pleasure in his voice grated on Athene nerves.

"Does that mean I can stop washing floors?"

"Aye. You ready to take the oath?"

"Oath?" She was the spokesperson for a dead creature serving Sithis and she'd never had to take an oath for that. Now there was an oath?

"To join the Stormcloaks you must swear fealty to Ulfric, the true High King of Skyrim."

At least there was irony involved.

"All right. Hit me," Athene said.

She hadn't realized how well known she'd become. The evening of her oath they held a party in the barracks that spilled through the Palace of the Kings, Nord Mead and Alto Wine flowing. Even Ulfric appeared for a while, smiling at them all like a proud parent. Athene raised her glass to him and he looked troubled.

"Does he ever join the rest of us?" she asked Longs-for-Stars. "Does he ever go around to the camps, even?"

"He has a lot to do right here in Windhelm," the Argonian said. Ever the loyalist.

Athen watched her true High King of Skyrim retreat up the stairs to his wing of the palace. Her Stormcloak compatriots were swapping stories of their time on the ice, fighting wraiths or ambushing Imperials unused to the intense cold. She took the opportunity to slip away.

This wing of the palace was similar to the others but there were more locked doors and Ulfric's quarters commanded the largest room at the end of the hall. Athene had cleaned there more than once, but never when he was around. Anytime she'd wandered he was occupied with court or elsewhere, and she was more likely to run into Galmar, asking her what she wanted and when she'd be finished.

Tonight Galmar was revelling with his soldiers. Some of the doors had been left unlocked, some left opened, but Athene ignored them all and made her way down the hall.

Ulfric's door was closed, and likely locked, but it wouldn't hurt to listen, to peer through a keyhole and perhaps witness what he did when he wasn't on display as Skyrim's best hope.

Some steps away she slowed, her footsteps whisper-quiet on the stone.

She strained for sound. Even the pages of a book. Or a groan as he took off his boots and let himself relax, finally.

Reaching the door, she leaned her ear close.

From the shadows leading down another hall, movement startled her. She went to flee and was grabbed hard around the waist.

Ulfric held her, looked at her, then dropped her.

"You took the oath, today?" he said.

"Yes, my King."

"No need to clean up here anymore, I think."

"No, my King."

He squinted at her. "Did you mean it, truly?"

"My oath?"

"Your oath."

Was that why he'd seemed troubled downstairs? He didn't believe her loyalty? He wasn't stupid, then. Even as they stood by his quarters, in the heart of his safest place, surrounded by those who loved him, her hands itched to finish her mission. End this man's life and end the civil war. Earn her fifty thousand septims and return to the Dawnstar sanctuary in victory.

Her stomach hurt from his assault. She had never been strong or able to overcome many who saw her coming. The last few real fights she'd had–killing the vampires Hert and Hern, and with the ice wraiths on Serpentstone Isle–had been near-deadly. And neither of those were fights with trained soldiers who lived on constant guard. The man in front of her thought himself a King, and he held himself as a King. More, he'd managed to murder the true High King, and escape. Maybe she could get a blade into his belly, if she was quick, but would it stop him for good? Or even long enough to keep him from killing her in reply?

"Of course, my King," she said. "I swore fealty to you, to Skyrim and her people. I will bleed to destroy the Empire and I will follow your every command until this country is cleansed of Thalmor and any others who lay claim to our home."

"By Talos, you sound like a propaganda machine. Do you have an original thought in your head? Who wound you up and sent you here, talking like that?"

Athene was stung. "Every thought I have is my own."

"And I'd like to hear them, rather than the parroting you're stuck on now."

She bit her lip.

"But perhaps I never will. Are you intimidated, Athene?"

Sure, she was. She wanted to kill him and knew she couldn't do it. Not yet.

But he'd seen through her poor veil of obedience and knew there was something else within. No point in hiding it now. What should she choose to show him, to make him think he'd seen it all?

It was interesting that he remember her name. Did he remember all his soldier's names, or just the young women?

"I am intimidated," she said. "I stand next to you and see a man who will change all of Tamriel, not just Skyrim. It's… exciting."

Ulfric snorted. "If seduction is your game, you're a little late. I have Nord and elven women alike lining up to warm my bed."

"And how many of them excite you any longer than it takes to 'warm your bed?'"

"Tell me you have some Bosmer trick involving a treehouse and a couple of arrows."

"I can Shout."

Had they been alone the whole time? Athene hadn't seen or heard anyone on her trip up the stairs but that didn't mean anything. She hadn't heard Ulfric, either. Now the only sound was his breath and a far-off howl of frigid wind. Did he keep his windows open in his bedroom? Was he so married to his country he slept in snow?

She hadn't wanted to mention her Shout. Always knew it was a connection to Ulfric but didn't want to think about it. Now, seeing his reaction, she realized it was her greatest tool.

"I knew it was you," he whispered. "News came from Whiterun of a Dragonborn called by the Greybeards. Did you walk the 7000 steps? Did you stray from the Way of the Voice when it asked you to lay down your passions forever?"

"Did you?" Way of the Voice. Lay down her passions? The pilgrimage to High Hrothgar was more than she thought it was, then.

He bowed his head. "I did. I couldn't vow to still my voice while my country lay abused beneath the Empire."

"Noble," Athene said.

"Or weak," Ulfric said. "Get back to your party. I've no need of company tonight and your invitation is… interesting. But untimely. Enjoy your evening and maybe tomorrow we can speak again of Shouts and other painful things."

Athene was relieved. Not just that he'd accepted her fumbling attempt at seduction as rote, but because he was too damned tired or moody or accept, and that was perfect. An idea placed and let grow was much more powerful than something blurted in a dark hallway, and next time they spoke–tomorrow, or whenever–she knew her words would have become much more complicated in his mind.

She'd come to understand that defeating Ulfric would not be a simple case of a blade in the dark. It would be layered, difficult…

And so very satisfying.


	37. The Jagged Crown

Athene was not surprised that she and Ulfric did not continue their conversation the next day. After the night of revelry it all seemed blurry and unreal. And Galmar was leaning over the map in the war room with a quest that had eclipsed his previous dislike of his newest soldier.

"I want you to meet me at Korvanjund," he said. "We'll retrieve the relic before the Imperials get a whiff of it."

"What relic is that?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you haven't heard of it. It's only the traditional crown of the High Kings and Queens of Skyrim, lost since the death of King Borgas."

"The Jagged Crown," Athene said.

Galmar looked a little put out. "You have heard of it?"

"Borgas died in the Wild Hunt, when men turn to beasts and scour the land before destroying each other. It's a Bosmer ritual to protect Valenwood. Though why a Skyrim King wanted to be involved, I don't really know. Maybe that's what foiled the ritual and allowed the Thalmor to take control."

She expected a defensive retort of some kind. She didn't expect him to say, "Maybe it is," but he did.

He shook his head. "It's turning our backs on the old ways that makes our home vulnerable. Whether that home is Valenwood, or Skyrim. Or anywhere."

"The Forsworn would agree with you," Athene said.

That did it. Galmar dismissed her without another word.

Korvanjund was your basic Nordic ruin, and and Athene had been avoiding those since Volunruud. At least this time she'd have some kind of army on her side. She shrugged into her Stormcloak cuirass and joined her new brothers and sisters on their way out of Windhelm. The weather was predictably cold, but the march made it feel warmer and she shared a bottle of strong mead with Longs-for-Stars as they went down the road. Some hours later they rested just out of sight of the ruin. Galmar had arrived and sent scouts to check the entrance.

They returned with bad news. The Imperials had also arrived and already gone inside. Galmar dragged his troops up from their rest and readied his warhammer.

"We will not lose the symbol of our High King to these bastards. For Ulfric, and for Skyrim! Let's go!"

Training at Windhelm had prepared her for the rush, but Athene was still a better assassin than soldier and so she contributed how she could: by sneaking around the outside of the battlefield and taking out archers and stragglers before they could attack her comrades. It was tricky work, but she moved quickly and they'd taken Korvanjund's grounds before the sun hit the horizon. The Stormcloaks moved through the entrance hall and further into the ruin until they began running into draugr as well as the living. While the others hacked and slashed openly at a group of Imperials, Athene slipped up to the walkways above and searched for anything that would raise the barrier to the next section of the crypt.

And there she found Hadvar.

He was doing the same thing, poking at a lever and oblivious to her approach. Athene took the last few steps running and grabbed him before he could turn. She pressed her dagger to his throat to keep him still.

He breathed her name.

"Long time no see," she said.

"What are you doing? What have you done?"

"What does it look like?"

"You chose poorly, my friend. Why?"

"Did you really think I'd follow Tullius anywhere after he tried to decapitate me for no reason? I watched his version of justice, all those prisoners without a trial. Sorry Hadvar, but you were never going to convince me that jerk was a good leader."

He didn't even try to pull away. Either he was afraid of the sharp blade or he didn't know any better.

"I didn't think you were one for politics," he said. "Tullius or… or that murderer. Ulfric."

Athene didn't move. She wanted to hear what else he had to say.

"You don't even argue," he continued. "I call him a murderer and you have nothing to say? I can't believe you actually follow the man. Athene, it's not too late. Just… let me go. Stop this before it goes too far."

"If I let you go, my comrades in arms will make quick work of you. They've already killed the rest of your group."

He slumped a little. "All of them?"

"If they're lucky. I've never seen hardened troops so scared of a few undead Nords. What the Stormcloaks don't finish, the draugr will. I think one man soiled his uniform down there."

"Stop it," he said. "I helped you out of Helgen."

"And I helped you out of Helgen. Don't think I owe you, Hadvar."

"Then why aren't I dead yet?"

One last push of bravery. She had to admire it.

She tightened her grip on her blade.

Took a breath.

But you know, her mind spoke up, he did help you in Riverwood, too. Even when he knew you weren't the sort he wanted to help. Even when his uncle whispered you should be cautious. When he caught you stealing the few gold pieces they had in their bedside dresser. Even then he let you go, and gave you another chance, when Tullius himself was ready to remove your head.

Of course, she insisted right back at her mind, he treated me like a criminal and didn't leave me alone with his niece, Dorthe, as if I could infect her with evil.

You are a criminal, her mind spoke up. Worse now than ever. And he's right. You don't really support the Stormcloaks. What does he have to do with anything, here? Except wrong place, wrong time. Like Helgen. Like so many other things.

"Go," she said, and shoved him towards the shadows where she'd ambushed him from. He didn't argue, or even look amazed. He just went, and vanished as well as his clumsy feet could take him. The other Stormcloaks were examining the passage to the next room, but likely a draugr would get him, or the sentries they'd left at the door. At least it wasn't her.

Athene pulled the lever and opened the inner depths of the ruin. 


	38. A Stop on the Way

Ulfric had ended court early. Now he stood in the war room holding the Jagged Crown, utterly entranced.

"Dragon's teeth," he said, his voice a growl. "They might have been torn from the worm this afternoon."

Athene, who had seen dragon's teeth in a living dragon's mouth, wasn't so sure. But she agreed that the crown did appear well preserved, and impressive with all its sharp edges. If nothing else, it was certainly jagged.

And though she ached to make a flippant comment and show her disdain for the relic they'd retrieved, she thought she understood what fascinated Ulfric so. A vibration that thrummed in her belly when she held the crown, reminding her of what she was supposed to be.

Dragonborn.

She had tried it on just once, in privacy, on her way back from Korvanjund. The sensation of immense power and promise had settled down to her shoulders. She'd torn the thing off before she could do real damage to her reputation by proclaiming herself High Queen to the first person she saw.

Or before she Shouted her birthright and brought the Greybeard's attention upon her again.

"Perhaps this will sway the Moot," Ulfric said. "And perhaps it is time for all Nords to decide where their loyalties are. I'm sending you to Whiterun."

"Why me?"

"You have to ask? There you slayed the dragon and showed Skyrim your potential. There, from what I'm told, Jarl Balgruuf called you friend. I want you to take him my axe and bring me his reply. We will know his mind when he sees his choices demonstrated to him by the Dragonborn herself."

Athene was quiet. There was more in Whiterun than an indecisive Jarl, and she wasn't sure she wanted to face it.

Ulfric set the crown on his map of the country and walked over to her.

"Do you fear this deed? So far your actions have been kept to our sight. Do you fear proclaiming your loyalties to the rest of Skyrim?"

"No," she said, which was the truth. "I don't care that they see where I'm allied. But I have… friends in Whiterun."

"Are they Imperial sympathizers?"

"No. In fact most of the people I know in Whiterun support you, which I'm sure Galmar has pointed out. There's one vocal family, the Battle-Borns, who will die before they see you High King, but as I'm sure you're about to say, that means they'll die." She thought of Jon Battle-Born, who'd warned her about the werewolves and told her he mourned his country's obsession with death. Would he live through the coming battle, if it did come to battle?

"And can they fight?"

"The Battle-Borns? The name sort of gives it away, doesn't it?"

Ulfric chuckled. "I meant your 'friends.'"

Could Farkas fight? Athene had a vivid image of him cutting through a troll with his two-handed sword, his thick arms bunched with muscle, face determined.

"Some of them," she said.

"Then perhaps they will fight. As for the others, those who cannot, if you love them then tell them to go. Tell them to come here and I will protect them as I do all those who swear their allegiance to me. I won't look on you poorly for warning them against the coming war. But I hope it won't be necessary, and Balgruuf will see how things must be be."

"And if my friends are Dunmer and Argonians? Will you protect them then, and take them to the warmest corners of your city, within the walls?"

It was the first time she'd mentioned his treatment of other races right to his face. Galmar had an earful every chance she got, but she'd never dared tempt fate with Ulfric, to give him any reason not to trust her loyalty.

He disappointed her with his reply.

"If your friends are Dunmer they will find many kin within Windhelm's walls. If they are Argonian they will find haven and employment as so many others have.'

"At the docks," Athene said.

Ulfric nodded. "Which is more than I can say for Whiterun, which at last census gave safe harbour to no one but humans and elves. Is it not true?"

She couldn't disagree.

"I let it go because I was weary, but I did notice you didn't answer my question the other night." Ulfric turned back to the crown and left his back to her. "Did you walk the 7000 steps? Have you strayed now from the Way of the Voice?"

"I haven't walked them. Not yet."

"Ah. So this is merely a stop on the way to your destiny, as Arngeir would say."

"Arngeir?"

"One of the Greybeards. The one who welcomed me to High Hrothgar and turned me away when I misstepped."

Athene sent a rare prayer to Talos, questioning why the man she was going to murder was also the man who seemed to have all the answers she desired.

Maybe it was a gift. His back was still to her. And his own axe was in her hand.

"Good," said a voice behind her, and Galmar joined them in the room. "I'd hoped she brought it to you right away."

He and Ulfric began admiring the Jagged Crown again, and Athene considered herself dismissed.

Whiterun waited. 


	39. Moments of Transition

Evening in Whiterun was cold and tense as Jarl Balgruuf retired to his quarters to consider Ulfric's axe. Dragonsreach was silent as Athene walked out, the steward Proventus and the housecarl Irileth giving looks that would have chilled her blood, if the weather hadn't already. It made the Companions' mead hall feel even more bright and welcoming.

Standing in the doorway to Jorrvaskr, watching Athis and Njada punch the spit out of each other, Athene wondered for the first time what she believed.

The Companions believed in getting a job done, straightforward and bloody. They took jobs for a variety of reasons, many of them financial, which was similar to her own Dark Brotherhood. Was there a massive difference between breaking someone's face because someone else was offended, and ending their life because someone was desperate enough to pray for it?

All right. Yes, there was. One was a lot more final. But both, she reasoned, were just a job with little thought given to why the employer wanted it done. No one asked a person who performed the black sacrament if their intentions were just. And no Companion questioned the motives of their patrons, either.

Meanwhile, the Stormcloaks believed in one man, Ulfric Stormcloak. A figurehead who represented everything they wanted Skyrim to be: proud, powerful, and purely Nord. His soldiers demonstrated their unwavering allegiance by taking his name for their own, every one. They might be fighting for their home, their families and for whatever personal experience had driven them to rebellion, but they believed in Ulfric. Like a minor deity, he allowed them to focus on one thing, avoiding all the complications involved in anarchy.

What did the Imperials believe? Hadvar, Athene knew, thought he was fighting for right by supporting his government to retain the status quo. More than that, he thought he was fighting for peace, for a stable country without rebellion. Genius Tullius certainly seemed to believe that getting rid of Ulfric would stop bloodshed. She'd heard the same sentiments from Emperor Titus Mede II when he'd given her the job to end Ulfric's life.

Athene did not believe fighting could ever result in peace. Although she wanted the Thalmor off Nirn entirely, she didn't think Ulfric was a God, and although she believed in a straightforward job, she wasn't concerned with honour the way the Companions were. The Dark Brotherhood had been a great fit from the start because Astrid's approach was direct and to the point. When the Night Mother declared Athene the Listener that had added something to the mix she wasn't yet sure she understood. She'd liked it, but had she ever really accepted it? Owned it? As far as she knew Nazir and Babette had taken the Night Mother's coffin to the Dawnstar sanctuary, but she had never checked. Cicero was still missing. Agni's fate was uncertain.

Athene's path had been a trail of unfinished things—Farkas came to mind now, too—and she was starting to wonder if it was her lack of conviction that had produced this result.

She was good at being flippant. Even as she examined her own motives the urge was within her to declare, "I _believe_ I'll get drunk tonight, and try to bed a werewolf." But did she really believe that would banish her doubts come morning?

In Dragonsreach a leader was considering a response that might mean war for his people. It would certainly mean death for some regardless of what he decided. Was he questioning his own beliefs, alone at the top, while Athene questioned hers, here at the bottom of the heap?

Athis and Njada had finished their fight, and Athis lay nursing his jaw while Njada accepted a bottle of mead and drank deep, head back, victorious. That was exactly the kind of moment Athene liked best: a simple moment enjoyed fully, with no strings attached. She'd come into Skyrim angry and kicking, drawing her grief around her like a draugr's shroud. She had never taken a single step to shed herself of that grief, instead allowing it to stifle her movements. All she made room for was the odd moment of simple, unfettered joy.

Farkas saw her and waved, but not before Aela shoved Vilkas and pointed her way. Vilkas glowered, but he made no move as his brother sauntered up the stairs with a smile.

"Did you go?" he said eagerly. "Did you see the Greybeards? What did they tell you?"

Oh, right. Add that to the list of unfinished business.

"Not yet," she admitted. "But I do have a lot to tell you."

She'd surprised herself. Tell him? Like, the truth?

Why not, she figured. It doesn't have to be the whole truth.

"I'll get you a drink and we can sit outside."

Athene thought to say no, it was freezing outside, but then she realized she probably wouldn't be cold with him for company. And there was no need to say that.

The one thing she truly believed was that she, Athene—her complexity, her difficulty, her anger, and her grief—was no one's problem but her own.

"Make it a stiff drink," she said.

This was the kind of moment she liked best.


	40. Following the Hist

Athene stopped at the Nightgate Inn on the way back to Windhelm. In her Stormcloak uniform she wasn't given a second glance, let alone considered long enough to remind the innkeeper about her evening with Balagog gro-Nolob. Hadring saw her over the bar and jerked a thumb in the direction of a table, and Athene saw Longs-for-Stars and another soldier sitting with their Honningbrew Mead.

"She's back," the Argonian hissed in a friendly manner. She leaned toward the Nord male she drank with. "I heard she had an important message for Jarl Balgruuf."

"How did you know that?" The man had tensed when Athene walked over. She didn't know what to make of it, but Stars didn't seem to care.

"Yes, how?" Athene said.

"Important things get around." Stars grinned, or as close to a grin as her wide flat lips would allow.

"Better get back to camp." The Nord stood up abruptly and stomped to the door.

Longs-for-Stars sighed.

"What was that about?"

"Burd isn't sure about being seen with me around other soldiers."

Athene sputtered. "He isn't… sure? About being seen with his fellow Stormcloak?"

The Argonian waved a clawed hand. "Let's not simplify things. You know what he means. We're fighting for Nords. It's incredible they even allow me to fight."

"I thought we were fighting for Skyrim. Everyone's Skyrim. Do you think it's incredible they allow me to fight?"

"Not, but you're Dragonborn, or so the others say. Whatever that means. But I am…" She shrugged. "They can squint at you and see a human. They squint at me and see a lizard. Or maybe a dragon." She guffawed, a very human sound.

"You told me you wanted to get the Empire out of Skyrim and then we'd worry about putting Skyrim back together. Is that really what drives you?" After the increased introspection of the evening before, Athene tried to fit Long-for-Stars within the conclusions she'd made. The Argonian wasn't like other Stormcloaks, choosing Ulfric as a stand-in for the perfect Skyrim resident. Or if she was, she was even more confused than Athene.

Stars considered, blue eyes on her cup. Her round nostrils twitched and Athene had time to admire the smooth black and grey scales that reached over her forehead. Then she said, "Have you heard of Umbriel?"

Athene nodded. "Floating island that made it through from Oblivion, and destroyed Lilmoth before heading to Vvardenfell. Ysolda told me that 'Sleeping Tree' the giants guard might have come from a seed that fell from Umbriel."

Stars nodded. "I've visited that tree. It has the hum of the Hist at its core, and so I think your friend Ysolda is right. There was a hero, an Argonian named Glim, who gave a part of himself to the island, and so it had a part of the Hist, and so it was ours. For a little while. This is what my mother told me when I was a hatchling and thought every story was true."

"Do you still think it's true?"

"I've heard the hum from the tree and felt it calling. I know it's true."

Athene nodded again. The relationship between Argonians and the Hist was something she respected and had no urge to mock, though she accepted her respect might have come from the stories her own mother had told her. It was easy to believe things you were told when the world was new and wonderful. And there was something else…

"Don't the Hist worship Sithis?" she blurted.

Stars didn't answer, but she gave a sort of shrug that might have meant anything.

Athene didn't pursue it further.

"What does Umbriel have to do with the Stormcloaks?"

"I came here for the Sleeping Tree, to see my mother's stories for myself. When the Empire gave up the Black Marsh after the Oblivion crisis my family settled into their routine, farming and selling and fighting and writing. I grew up not expecting to have to care what happened outside our borders. But then the Thalmor were everywhere, and I can't believe they'll stop just because they hate our swamps and our rootworms. Not after what we did to Morrowind."

"The Thalmor aren't known for their love of other elves."

"But certainly known for their love of conquest. Of taking away what people care for, to break them down. When I came here for the Hist, I had to stay for the Hist, because I know what will happen when Thalmor turn their eyes from Skyrim to the rest of Tamriel again."

"You aren't actually fighting for Skyrim? You're fighting for your own home and family?"

"Don't tell Burd." Long-for-Stars grinned again.

"Jarl Balgruuf has turned down Ulfric's offer," Athene said. "There will be war imminently."

"I will happily fight to keep that war here."

"I believe you. So I have a task for you."

One horned eyebrow shifted on the Argonian's face. "A task? Beg pardon, my Bosmer friend, but you're new here. You don't give out tasks."

"I know. But I think you'll accept this one." She outlined her plan into Stars' flat ear.

"Are you sure?" her conspirator said. "This is what you want? It's… an honour. And also I think a burden."

"Are you up for it?"

The lizard sat up straighter. "Of course I am. Are you?"

"Absolutely," Athene said.

Longs-for-Stars held out a scaled palm. "All right then. Give me the axe."


	41. Stepping Up

Snow had drifted up against the door to Falion's house, and it took some digging before Athene could fight her way inside. There it was cold, the hearth long unused. Fruit rotted in a bowl on his table. The entrance to the basement where he'd held Athene during her vampirism was hidden again beneath a worn rug.

She'd travelled through the night, so the first thing she did now was shake the dust off the bed and settle in to catch a few hours sleep. The place was so still she felt sure she'd notice if someone came in. Her sleep was ragged but necessary, the smell of apothecary herbs and straw bringing back awful memories that stained her dreams. But when she woke she felt better.

The first thing she saw was the book by Falion's bed. _Immortal Blood_. She'd never heard of it, so she reached out and started leafing through. It told the story of Movarth Piquine, a scholar of vampires who questioned the anonymous author until it turned out the author himself was a vampire, and fed from him. Grim reading, but it made sense considering Falion's interests. Nothing was revealed about Movarth's fate, but Athene knew from Babette that he lived in the area, now a master vampire with a coven of his own.

If only Falion had known, when he left that book lying around for his apprentice to read, that she would end up in Movarth's lair as undead as the author.

But then, knowing Falion, perhaps he wouldn't have acted any differently.

Athene could not judge Babette for allowing Agni to remain with Movarth. She'd had few options, and it was certainly one of the safer places for the girl to hide until another cure was found. More, Athene had little leverage to judge anyone about anything, considering she was the reason behind Agni's predicament.

She'd fed from the girl and nearly killed her. There, she'd admitted it to herself fully. The guilt that flooded through her was an integral part of her decision at the Nightgate Inn, when she'd realized how poorly suited she was to return Ulfric's axe and start his civil war in earnest.

Loose end number one? Agni. An innocent—or she used to be.

Athene wanted to get out of Falion's before Morthal woke, and before Jonna had a chance to notice and wonder that someone had entered her brother's house. Did Jonna know Falion was dead? Babette had been vague about a lot of things. It didn't matter. The snowdrift outside would give Athene away and she didn't want to answer questions. She scoured the house for anything that might be useful, found a few potions of Cure Disease that hadn't gone off and a silver dagger, and headed out.

An Imperial soldier stood outside the barracks near Highmoon Hall, so Athene went the other way. She walked down the docks until she had to step off through marshland and around the pool that surrounded Morthal. The city was nearly beautiful in early morning light and mist, and it certainly gave her room to move without being seen. No wonder it was infested by vampires.

She remembered the rush of strength she'd felt during her short time as the undead, and it occurred to her it wasn't totally unlike the sensation of wearing the Jagged Crown.

Movath's lair was where Babette had described, a short obvious walk from Morthal and not at all disguised. Bloody remains littered the ground outside, promising even more vicious delights within. That Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone did nothing about this place supported the locals' worries about their safety. That there were any locals remaining spoke volumes about Movarth's control over his coven.

It was this control that Athene had to trust as she readied the silver dagger and stepped into the cave.


	42. Movarth's Lair

It smelled of dried blood and rotten cloth. The combination was sharp, as if someone was holding a dirty blade against her nostrils. From experience Athene knew that a surprised vampire was an angry vampire, so she pushed her hood back and roughed her footsteps. She wanted them to hear and smell her coming, even over the other stench and the rush of underground marshwater through the cave's walls.

She needn't have worried. When she arrived in the central cavern Movarth's entire coven was waiting for her, spread out around the walls. Once she stepped forward there was no way she'd escape, so she hovered near the exit, searching the group.

There she was. Agni. A child with pale cheeks and a half-smile. And on her shoulder was Movarth's grasping hand.

He raised his other hand in welcome.

"I wondered when you'd appear," he said.

"Thank you for keeping her safe. We'll be going now."

He laughed. His coven laughed, two dozen of them. The air filled with undead mirth.

She hadn't really expected that would work, but figured she'd start there, to give her an edge. Relaxed vampires were happy vampires were vampires she could work with.

"Agni, do you want to stay here?" Her next tactic.

The little girl looked up at the master's face.

"Tell her," he said.

"I will tell her," Agni parroted. "I want to stay here."

"Oh, come on. You can't expect me to believe that. You've brainwashed her."

"Be careful, guest. Or I might reconsider how pleasant we've been thus far."

"What do you want with her, anyway? You have enough followers here. This is one little girl with little to offer, and she needs to return to life."

"And you can do that for her?"

Athene paused. "I know someone who can."

"Is it Falion? Because I'm sorry to tell you that ended badly for him." Movarth's eyes drifted up and then fixed back on Athene.

She looked up. She couldn't help it. The high cavern ceiling was dark but there was something shiny up there that glinted in her torchlight. She strained to see, and: ah, she got it. Petrified flesh and slick white bones nailed to the stone with steel spikes.

Falion had been crucified.

One of Movarth's women tittered. Unlike the others she wore tavern clothes and a breast was bare where the cloth had slipped off her shoulder.

"A gift to him," the master vampire said, bringing her back to Falion. "To thank him for all my children he's taken over the years."

Babette had really left out a lot of details.

"Do you want to stay this way forever?" Athene kept looking up but she hoped Agni would know she spoke to her. "Surrounded by torture and death? Never growing into your own woman, never having a choice to make for yourself?"

"Tell her," said Movarth.

"I will tell her," said Agni. "I want to stay this way forever."

Athene ground her jaw shut. She glared at the master.

"From the mouths of babes," he said.

"Speaking of that, you remember Babette? The other eternal little girl? She says hello. She's good friends with Sybille Stentor, the court wizard up at Solitude. Surely you must have heard of good old Sybille. Ancient, old Sybille."

Please oh please have heard of her, Athene thought.

Movarth's mouth twisted. "Solitude is far away."

"Is it really? I can see its shadow from here. I can see the shadow of one politically powerful wizard who has a lot to hide. A lot to make up for. And a vested interest in rooting out vampires wherever she finds them."

Her back was to the exit. She had her ebony blade and one silver dagger, and she was quick, and wanted to live. Would it be enough?

The woman in tavern clothes was scowling. She took a step forward, bare feet shuffling.

Athene brandished her torch and took a step back. "It would be a shame if she found out about this place. I imagine she'd bring fire. She's excellent with fire."

"You'd kill all of us for one girl?" Movarth spat. "Am I truly the villain here?"

"Mr. Piquine," Athene said. "You don't know the half of it."

"Tell her you'll go with her." The master shoved the girl forward and it seemed to take a few seconds for Agni to realize what had happened. She didn't run, and she didn't lose her half-smile. Her eyes were glassy and there were twigs in her hair. Even without the dirt, it looked like her brown hair hadn't been brushed for weeks.

She looked up at Athene and said, "I'll tell her. I'll go with her."


	43. A Dead Thing

Agni remained under Movarth's spell until they were climbing the path that snaked up to Whiterun's plains. Behind them was the marshland where Morthal sulked, and midway through the climb Solitude had also become visible. Athene hadn't been kidding when she said the shadow reached them.

"I'm tired," the girl said. "I'm hungry. It's hot. We shouldn't be moving during the day."

"We don't have a choice." Athene brought out some stew she hoped was bloody enough and offered it to her charge.

Agni turned up her nose.

"I want a person," she said. "I want a little boy."

"There is no way I am bringing you a child to feed on. Do you know how sick that is?"

"You do," Agni said.

"You can't hurt me that way." Athene put away the stew and put her backpack on. She turned her feet up the hillside and hoped the girl followed.

She followed.

"I want a small boy I can suck dry."

"Stop it."

"Someone from Rorikstead. Have you heard of Rorikstead? I memorized a map. I was going to pass by here on my way to Winterhold. I was going to the College to learn magic. Falion used to go there."

"Did he really?"

"Yes. He was a great conjurer but he left because they were too strict about things."

"Things like necromancy?"

"Like what?"

"Never mind." Athene wished she hadn't said it. She tried to think of something else that would keep the girl talking and keep her off the topic of eating small children for dinner. Luckily Agni became lost in her memories and didn't speak again until they'd reached the plains.

"I'm tired," she said. "It's too hot. I hate the sun."

"We'll camp soon."

"Will we eat, then?"

Of all the things she'd considered while planning her route, finding victims for Agni was not one of them. It was stupid, really.

Athene sighed.

"I have an idea."

Donating blood to the creature she'd created seemed a small price to pay. To Agni's disgust Athene bled into a waterbag for a few minutes and then handed it over, rather than allowing her to latch onto her neck. She just thought it was safer, somehow. And she didn't want to use the Cure Disease potions unless she had to.

"It tastes of something," Agni said. "It's not good."

"I'm glad I'm not that delicious. Drink up and let's go."

"It's not you. You're delicious, like creamy, spiced pumpkin soup. It's the bag. It tastes like a dead thing."

"It is a dead thing. It's leather." Spiced pumpkin soup? The girl had only been with Movarth for a little while and he'd turned her into some kind of blood sommelier? "Are you done? Let's go."

She thought Agni's complaining would stop their trip in the early evening, but as soon as the sun began to fade she perked up and outpaced Athene, so they kept on going. The girl's chatter was a constant stream of observations and accusations. "Look, a deer! Look, a mucrab! You know you ruined my life?" At least her barbs were immature, undeveloped, and nothing hit hard enough to draw blood—so to speak. It was as if she echoed what she'd heard in the lair, and from Falion, rather than something she truly felt.

Athene hoped when the girl shared her true feelings about what had happened, she recognized it for what it was, and faced it full on.

It was nearing midnight when the horizon brightened ahead of them. Before the eastern mountains was a line of yellow that flickered, an unnatural sunrise.

Agni's footsteps had slowed and Athene wondered if she was finally tired. Then she realized she was just afraid of the light.

"It's like daytime there. I don't want to go."

Athene squinted. She couldn't make out anything. "What can you see?"

"Soldiers. Machines. And fire. So much fire."

The western watchtower rose out of the darkness beside them. Athene suddenly realized where they were.

"Whiterun," she said.


	44. Good Intentions

The closer they got to the fire, the more terrified Agni became. By the time they passed by Whitewatch Tower her aged-vampire facade had fallen away and she was again just a child, clutching Athene's hand and hiding behind the elf's hip. She mewled, panicked, and Athene had to tell her again and again that they weren't going there, not going anywhere near the fighting, the fire, the shouting soldiers.

Any temptation Athene had to find Longs-for-Stars or her other comrades was gone. She had to get Agni away before she went berserk and bit someone.

She'd been hoping to catch the carriage in Whiterun, but this was clearly not going to happen. Instead she led the girl on toward Windhelm and finally got a ride with a a farmer who took pity. They were juggled around in the back with boxes of apples but it meant they could doze while they travelled.

Hours later Agni nudged Athene with her foot.

They'd arrived at Winterhold.

"It's not as big as I'd imagine," the girl whispered.

"It used to be bigger. Most of it fell into the sea."

"Yeah, but…"

"Look." Athene pointed at the college, hanging over the edge of the cliff, its narrow walkway one precarious link to the mainland.

Agni was struck speechless.

Athene thanked the farmers and insisted on paying. If nothing else it would keep her from being in their debt if she saw them again. Agni was getting restless again, five minutes off the road and ready to feed, sleep, or start complaining, so Athene took her hand and brought her straight up the steps to the college.

They were stopped by an Altmer with pursed lips.

"You will not gain entry," Faralda said. "The way is closed–"

"I need to see Shaude."

"Excuse me?"

Athene leaned closer and pinned the taller elf with a look. "I need to see the Arch-mage before this vampire kills us both."

The girl giggled.

They were led across the bridge, watching their feet on the slick stones that promised to dump them to their deaths in the water miles below. Agni was distracted by everything, from Faralda's spells that lit their route, to the high tower that dominated the grounds. Mirabelle Ervine, Master Wizard of the school, met them in the courtyard and had a quick discussion with their guide. Finally she bowed her head to Athene.

"It is good to see you well. If you'll let Faralda entertain your charge I'll lead you up to the Arch-mage's quarters."

"You okay with that?" Athene said.

"Sure! Can you show me that light spell? Or a lightning bolt? Can you summon a familiar? My master–my old master–he could do that. Can you freeze somebody solid?"

Faralda already looked weary, but she led the little girl away as Athene followed Mirabelle into the Hall of Elements.

"It has been a long time." Mirabelle paused at the door to the stairway. "I know your business is your own, I've been reminded often enough, but as a friend of the Arch-mage I have to ask. Are you certain this is important enough to bother?"

Athene didn't blame her for asking. She was relieved the Master Wizard cared enough to bother. But she also wouldn't apologize for what she knew to be true.

"I'm certain," she said.

Mirabelle gestured. "Go on up, then. She's already seen you coming."

Athene went on up. She braced herself as well as possible, disliking the soft spot she sensed in her chest, where she knew she'd feel pain if the Arch-mage lashed out.

It was no good to tense up. So she tried to make herself light, to bend softly and not break if the storm rolled in.

She reached the next landing and saw the glowing garden where the Arch-mage grew ingredients for her powerful potions, and the wall of books, legends from every part of Tamriel. She saw the Arch-mage herself standing waiting, face unreadable.

"Hello. Sorry," Athene said.

Shaude nodded and stepped forward.

Athene tensed despite herself as her sister drew her into a hug.


	45. Under the Shadow

"I won't let you drag this college into darkness with you."

"That isn't what I'm trying to do. I would never have chosen to come here, and you know that. The only reason I did is to help that little girl."

"You've taken a sudden interest in young vampires? Come on, Athene. There's more to this you're not telling me."

"Of course there is. You refuse to see anything impure, so why should I try to show it to you? Stay here in your ivory tower, ignore the world outside, pretend everything is fine, but help me with this one thing. Not even me–Help _her_ with this."

Shaude waved her hands like she wanted to throttle her sister, but stayed back. "How do you suppose I do that? Cure vampirism? You have no idea how difficult that would be!"

"But possible."

"Prove it!"

"I was cured."

Athene could have counted out half a minute in the silence that followed, as Shaude stared at her. Then the Arch-mage said, "Well, that makes sense."

"I don't even want to ask what that means. I just want to know if you can do it. Falion, the one who cured me, used to live and work here. He'd dead now, and I found nothing in his research in Morthal, but maybe he left something here. Maybe in the records, or even word of mouth, something you can piece together to figure out how he did it."

"Will you describe the ritual?" Shaude had a bit of parchment now and she scribbled notes as Athene told the story of the dawn, the Black Soul Gem, and all the arm waving Falion had done before she'd felt her soul properly return to her body.

Her tale told, Athene was silent a while then realized her sister was lost in thought and study. So she stood up and toured her quarters, waiting to be noticed again.

Last time she'd been at the college was shortly after the previous Arch-mage had died, victim of his own greed. Savos Aren betrayed them all in his quest for power, and Shaude had been chosen as his replacement not just for her skill in Restoration magic, but because she was so utterly sensible and unlikely to corrupt.

It had always been so. After the purge they'd stayed together to stay alive, and because they were family, all they had left. As they travelled further from Valenwood the differences between Athene and her little sister had yawned wide, showing itself at every village and with every decision. When Athene tried to lay low, Shaude was laughing it up with a bard at the local inn. When Shaude began practicing Healing Hands on livestock to help farmers, Athene was poaching to make ends meet. The argument that had split them up and led one to Winterhold while the other lived in a bandit cave had been legendary, even by their standards. It had taken Athene years to seek Shaude out. What finally drew her was the knowledge that Shaude would never have left Winterhold to seek Athene. What she'd found in the college was exactly what she'd always sought.

When Athene wasn't angry she was jealous of that.

Her last short visit was more than three years ago. Mirabelle was right to be wary that the silence was broken. It may have been an estrangement, but it was also a truce.

There was an odd gem sitting on the beside table. It glowed and spun, pink and bright. As Athene considered taking it, Shaude finally spoke up.

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe I can do something with this. I think Arniel Gane might have some insight into the use of the Black Soul Gem, and of course Phinis… Colette… All right, Athene. You were not a complete idiot to bring the girl here."

"That's incredibly big of you."

"Don't interrupt. Yes, we might be able to help her. And no, I can think of no better place. We'll take care of her, if nothing else. At least she's out of that… lair. Movarth, you said? I've heard of him. We have some books."

She began shuffling said books on the shelves nearest to her, and after a while Athene realized she was alphabetizing them.

"Hello," Athene said. "Still here."

"I know you're there. I was just… All right. Fine. Athene, you brought us a vampire. A young, albeit un-tried vampire, who doesn't know her own strength, but a vampire. A killer. Into the college. You brought her here without warning, without even a letter stating your intentions. And you're not going to stay, are you? You're just going to leave her here and go back to… to what? What do you do now, anyway? Are you just a thief, or is that Sithis' brand I see on your soul?"

"Do you want me to stay?"

"No. You have a shadow over you, Athene."

"Seems like I'm doing right, then."

"Seems like you win, yes. You've managed to fit what you want to do into what you have to do. I should not be surprised. Safe travels, sister. Keep your darkness to yourself."

It was easier to walk to the door, to look at the fine tile flooring shining with faint blue light, than think about that. Than respond to that. So Athene walked and said nothing.


	46. Traitor

Athene was glad they'd slept on the way to Winterhold, because there was no way she was staying one extra moment. Agni was where she needed to be, and Athene had brought her and there was nothing else she could for the girl except write to Babette so she, too, knew things had worked out. Never mind that they hadn't exactly worked out for good–At least it was better. It was as good as it could be.

The farmers were gone and there was no carriage leaving town for days so Athene began hiking by herself, in the snow. She was wrapped up warmly and paced herself. It was a miserable route between the college and Windhelm, but when the weather cleared for a few minutes here or there the view of the sea was breathtaking. And she was sure she could make it in less than a day. If she just kept moving. If nothing stopped her.

She slipped by some wolves without incident, but it was the snowy sabre cat that made her heart race. Still, after hiking for an hour she was as white as he was, her armor entirely caked with snow. As long as it didn't melt it was good insulation, too. She kept her dagger in hand and whispered a drinking song she'd heard in Whiterun, saying it too slowly so it sounded like a dirge. But it kept her from thinking too much about how stupid she'd been to storm out of Winterhold into a blizzard.

When she saw a group of Nords she paused long enough to recognize them as guards. She went to pass them on the road, but the one in front stopped her with a hand.

"In the name of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, I command you to stop."

"Only if you have some mead to warm my belly," Athene said.

He snorted, but gave her a bottle. After a great show made of drinking half down, Athene had evaluated the men. She believed they were Stormcloaks dressed as city guards, and she believed they meant business. She waited to hear what it was.

"Done?" The leader took his bottle. "Then come with us."

"An escort back to Windhelm? Seems excessive."

"You can make this difficult if you like. Your choice."

"What am I…" Athene stilled as the guards drew their weapons. She nearly laughed in their faces. If she wanted to run, she'd tip backwards and roll. She'd be halfway down the slope before they could lug themselves after her. They were big men in little armor, and she'd be gone before they'd dug the snow from their boots. But why would all that be necessary? She was a Stormcloak, for the love of Talos. So to speak.

The leader held a hand out as if to calm her, an ineffectual gesture considering the warmhammers that were ready.

"You're under arrest, by right of Jarl Ulfric. Come peacefully and there'll be no trouble."

"Why?" Athene blurted. Had he found out… Well, anything? Everything? She could ask what she'd done, but really, what hadn't she done?

"Treason," the man said.

Athene peered at him through the blinding snow.

"Could you be more specific?" she said.


	47. Where She Belongs

For all her crimes committed in Skyrim, Athene had spent very little time in jail. The odd afternoon for pickpocketing, and one overnight when she'd started a bar brawl that spilled onto the street. She'd heard tales told in pubs across the country by bragging thieves that had bounties in every hold, who knew the inside of each capital's jail as if the cells were a second home. But she'd never understood why it was anything to brag about. As far as she was concerned, jail meant you'd failed.

More than that, it was a hint of an ending. It took little time locked in a cage for Athene to realize how much she needed her freedom. It took little time before she was desperate for a glimpse of sky.

And now, after all she'd done, which included the murder of the Emperor that she'd gotten away with, she was to be jailed for treason… because of an axe.

And she was to be jailed by people who committed treason every day. Rebels. Oh, the whole thing was hilarious.

Except not.

She could have run, but she'd been stunned and tired. If the Stormcloaks wanted her in Windhelm, and she'd been on her way to Windhelm to be a Stormcloak, it made sense to her that she'd go willingly. The alternative was exile from the place she needed to be to complete her work. So she was marched back to Ulfric's capital and escorted directly to the Palace of the Kings, passing a sorry and sympathetic looking Silda, the beggar Athene had befriended by donating a coin here and there. No one else was around, owing to the early hour they arrived and the weather that made the air seem ice.

The jail was on a level below the main hall where Ulfric held court. As they descended Athene felt her breath quicken. She fought her panic. She heard the chatter of guards in the barracks, recognizing a few voices. Surely people who would speak for her and understand what she'd done. Had Longs-for-Stars survived the battle for Whiterun? Was that battle over? It sounded so. The voices were too cheerful and loud for defeat. She asked her escorts and they forgot themselves a minute, describing glorious battle until they arrived at her cell. Then the leader seemed embarrassed and said she'd have to speak to Galmar for details.

Now there was an ugly prospect.

Ulfric's second in command arrived after noon, while Athene was still pushing her lunch around her plate. It was a greasy meat and some soft bread to soak up the juices, and it wasn't bad, but her stomach recoiled. She didn't want to eat, she wanted answers, and she wanted her freedom.

"Well, elf?" the Nord said. "Should I be surprised?"

"Tell me why I'm in here."

Galmar scowled at her and crossed his arms over his big chest. "You're a traitor. You know that."

"The guards you sent to pick me up mentioned that, yet I still have no idea why."

"Don't play stupid. You were given a mission by Jarl Ulfric himself, the true High King, and you betrayed him."

"Now it sounds like you're playing stupid. Because I did what Ulfric told me to do, I delivered his axe, and I made sure it returned here. I know it did because last I heard we'd taken Whiterun."

"We? No! No thanks to you!" He came right up to the cell and Athene was glad she was already a few steps back. He leaned as far as he could between the iron bars and bared his teeth. "You let your brothers and sisters fight for you, elf. You pledged yourself to Skyrim and when it counted you spared your own blood for the sake of others. You are a coward and you deserve a coward's death."

"How many?" said Athene.

"What did you say?"

"How many did we lose?" There were a few faces she needed to see. A few soldiers she would surely miss, and though she didn't count herself liable the way Galmar did, she would mourn them if she had to. And she would regret it if the others told her anyone had died for her. She had never wanted that. She sighed. "Just tell me how many I killed, if you're so determined I killed him."

He blustered and huffed, but he wasn't answering her question, so Athene crossed her own arms and waited.

"You are not a soldier," he finally said. "But not everyone agrees that you are a traitor. So I'm giving you one more chance to show your heart."

"Is this it? Because there's not much I can show from here."

"Shut up, elf. Listen to me. There's another traitor in Markarth. The steward, Raerek. We know he worships Talos, and yet he sits beside his Empire-hugging Jarl and lets the Thalmor stride around the keep. He is the worst sort of man, a coward, like you. You will find evidence of this and blackmail him to help us."

She ignored all the slights and went to the meat of the request. "You trust me with this? After I accidentally let someone else carry an axe a few miles?"

"I trust you with this because if you fail you'll be torn apart by those Thalmor, and I won't have to worry about your loyalty ever again."

That made sense. "Fine. Let me out."

He forced a laugh. "Oh, no. Not yet. You're on your way to Markarth, but first this cell needs warming. I think a week in darkness and solitary will chip some of the edges off your attitude."

Athene was ashamed, but she felt real fear. She tried to hide it but she was shuddering already. A week in this place? Alone in the dark? She struggled to find something to say that would change his mind. Her clever mind failed her.

Galmar saw the fear and his smile turned true. "There it is," he said. "Your heart."

He left her quickly, as if shaking her off his bootheel.


	48. Six Nights, Seven Days

Day one. Easy. Shove the greasy food around on the plate and scowl at the floor. Galmar's footsteps echoing through Athene's mind long after he'd gone. The man was cruel on purpose, which for all her crimes Athene never was. Was she?

Night one was more of a trial. The guards must have been instructed to stay out of the room. Hers was the only cell occupied in this lowest level of the jail and lines of bars led away on either side of her like an iron forest. A cot in each cell, with a little straw and a cow's skin. It wasn't cold. Her dagger had been taken, of course, and her armor. She was a little elf in ragged robes. There was no getting comfortable on the cot, and the cowhide didn't reach her feet, or it didn't reach her chest. It was up to her to choose. The straw dug into her skin. The ceiling was black and there was a drip, drip, drip somewhere nearby.

Day two saw Athene wasn't going to be defeated by cliches. The dripping had stopped and her breakfast was warm, eggs and a little meat and water. She'd probably eat better here than she did on the road. But she was bored already. She tried talking to the guards, who ignored her on their way out of the room. But they didn't shut the door so she talked at them through the doorway. She asked about Whiterun and the battle and soldiers and things she thought they'd want her to ask about. She wondered how she could have avoided this. If she'd brought Agni through Windhelm, would they have thrown her in jail? If she'd shown them her excuse? A sick little girl.

Night two revealed there was a draft somewhere behind the wall. The wind must have picked up because it was screaming on the other side of the stone bricks, screaming constantly. Athene knew what it looked like blowing snow out of the inlet and she could see it in her mind, driving hard against the city walls. It was comforting to know she was still there in the place she knew, not unconnected. Up there Silda and Brunwulf saw what she imagined. Ulfric himself drew his cloak tighter, for all his Nord blood. It was Frostfall and winter was deepening. Travellers would be heading into towns and the caravans bedding down for a while longer than usual. The wilds of Skyrim would be left to animals and the Forsworn. And the wind was screaming.

She slept little, then dozed through the morning. When she woke her breakfast had arrived, and was cold. The door to the room was closed and the surrounding cells still empty. She paced, hopped from stone to stone. Remembered a game she used to play with her sisters, drawing squares in the soil and chasing each other around. Complicated rules: miss a square and go again, remember the order or have to go backwards, don't run into anyone else, don't touch, or your turn is forfeit, around you go again, dizzy, laughing–

Either they forgot to bring her dinner or day three was stretching on. The wind had kicked up again but without meals it was impossible to know what time it was supposed to be. She called and no one answered. She sung a pro-Empire drinking song and then told everyone she was sorry, sorry.

Was she supposed to sleep now? She wasn't tired. She wasn't hungry.

The door opened. Longs-for-Stars came in.

"What time is it?" Athene said. "I'm glad you're alive."

The Argonian stopped some way from the cell. "What have you done?"

"You know what I did." Athene tried to make up the distance and pressed herself to the bars. She drank in Stars' face and her voice. Something different and new. Someone else, finally.

"I understand you had to help your friend's sister, I do. And I was honoured to carry Ulfric's axe for a time. But why didn't you come back? They're saying…"

"What?" Athene stared. "What are they saying?" She waited and her friend refused to speak. "It was just a few days. How was I supposed to know you'd attack the city immediately?"

"That was the point of the axe," Longs-for-Stars said.

"You know Galmar has it in for me. You know he put me here because he wanted to, nothing to do with giving you that axe. Did they give you trouble when you got back?"

"No."

"See? It's a grudge. He doesn't trust me."

"Should he?"

Athene had broken a thumbnail against the stone wall, trying to carve tic-tac-toe. She fiddled with the rough bit, deciding her friend wasn't there to be her friend. She was there to accuse, like the others.

"Fine then. What do you want to say? Tell me I'm a traitor, too? I took too long? I let you down? Get it all out."

"You asked what drives me to fight this war. I told you. Now I'm asking you the same thing."

Athene rolled her eyes. "What do you think? Valenwood, Thalmor, Empire. Enough said."

"No, it's not." She moved closer, still out of reach but so Athene could see her bright blue eyes. "It's not enough by far. I've fought by your side, Athene, and I know you well enough that if that was all you'd do it some other way. You'd slit throats in the dark, not join the rebellion. So I'll ask you again. Why?"

"The truth?" Athene heard some of Cicero's laughter bubbling up in her chest. The truth, why not? Why not indeed. "I'm doing it for money. Someone paid me to be here."

"I don't believe you," Longs-for-Stars said.

"I knew you wouldn't. But it is the truth. I'm a mercenary. I was paid and here I am."

"You've already been paid? Then you don't need to stay. Why do you stay?"

"I want to finish the job."

"I don't believe you. I don't believe you! Is there nothing else to you than money and work? What do you want, Athene? What is it you actually want?"

Night four. The wind still screaming. Longs-for-Stars gone in a hiss of frustration. Another demand Athene couldn't answer. Clever tongue stilled. Something niggling in the back of her mind, like trying to remember a word that wouldn't come. She'd worn her thumbnail to the quick and it bled. She drew tic-tac-toe on the wall in black. It would have been red if there was more light. She regretted it, her whole hand aching.

She and her sisters used to fight with fists and words. Athene always used words first. When she lost that way it made her more unhappy than when she nursed cuts and bruises. Her mother held her close and brushed the hair from her face. _"____You don't always have to be right."_ She'd taken it to heart. Now she was never right, and never wrong either.

Day five. Night five. She wasn't hungry because she barely moved. Unfair of Longs-for-Stars to come and cut her legs out from beneath her. What kind of a friend was that? Accusations were no comfort. Not when they were directed at her.

What did she want? It was a good question. She'd kill Ulfric and then figure it out.

Day six. Her pillow was wet because she guessed she'd been crying.

There was a traitor in Markarth she had to blackmail. Someone high up in court. Ulfric would love to have that kind of leverage. What would he do if he thought it would benefit his cause? Would he meet a traitor to negotiate for more?

Did she even have to blackmail Raerek? Did she have to see him at all? Would the promise of his information lure Ulfric somewhere she could finish her work without being his errand girl any longer? Without another moment of standing next to Galmar?

Night six. Galmar Stone-Fist. Now she knew what she wanted. She wanted him dead. And whereas Ulfric was a job, Galmar would be purely for her.

Day seven. Athene waited for release. She wasn't broken. Not at all. They wanted her heart? They'd see her heart. And then they'd see their own.


	49. Return of the Jester

"And then I arrived back here. Not much to it, really."

Athene shrugged and put on her most radiant ___I don't give a shit_ smile.

Judging by the expressions on Nazir's and Babette's faces, they weren't buying it.

"I'm impressed you went back to Morthal," Babette said eventually, when she and Nazir had shared a look and the Redguard poured them each an enormous mug of ale.

"Yes, well." Athene waved a hand.

"Truly impressive," Nazir said. "Out-witting vampires, starting wars, being thrown in jail. In fact the only thing you didn't manage to do was kill Ulfric Stormcloak. Wasn't that what you set out to do in the first place? Did I miss something?"

"Don't be hard on her," Babette said. "She's been through a lot."

"A lot that could have been avoided by using her blade a bit more."

The vampire rolled her eyes. "Rush in and stab the High King. What could go wrong?"

"She might end up in jail. Oh wait, she did that anyway!"

"Nazir!"

"I get it," Athene said. "He's right. I have messed around a little and I can't defend it. But now things have changed."

"I believe you." Babette leaned back in her chair and wrinkled her face. She looked like a kid pretending to be her mother. "There's something odd about you today."

A few days ago Athene had been in jail. As soon as she was released she hadn't gone to Markath, as instructed, but here to the Dawnstar sanctuary to see how her family fared. The Night Mother was set up on the highest level of the ruin, and the tunnels where Athene had chased Cicero were closed off and sealed. With extra beds, banners, an indoor garden, and a cheery fire, it was actually nicer than the Falkreath sanctuary, and the perfect reminder after her trial with the Stormcloaks.

Not long after she'd sauntered in, shocking everyone, Nazir had pointed out that the Brotherhood had fallen back into doing jobs the way Astrid had done them, collecting by word of mouth. So Athene had approached the Night Mother and Listened to weeks worth of prayers from desperate souls throughout Skyrim that wanted justice–or something else–from Sithis. She passed on the targets to assassins she'd only just met, surprised by how many new recruits the others had found, and sat down to share her whole story with the two she knew well.

So, today? If there was something odd about her, Athene embraced it. She'd always loved that this family was irrevocably odd.

When she shared her plan with her friends she waited for their reactions, savouring the shift of emotions on each face.

Babette frowned. "Bold," she said.

"Positively arrogant," Nazir agreed. "Yet…"

"Inspired." Babette's eyes glittered.

"Absolutely." Nazir grinned.

"No more putting it off," Athene said. "I'll be in Windhelm in a few days. Nazir, you need to be in Markarth before that, so rumours have time to trickle in. Babette, you know the abandoned house on the road south of Windhelm?"

"Heard of it, seen it, lived there for a decade."

"It's home again. You know what to do."

The three discussed details until Athene's head began to spin, and she excused herself to get some air. Their new sanctuary was right on the beach and the view was spectacular. Locals from town knew to stay away, and when the light was right it was impossible to tell there was civilization nearby. It was all sand, sea, and biting wind.

Athene sat in the sand and took a deep breath. The sky was huge above her and she loved it more than ever before.

"Listener!"

She was on her feet, dagger out, before she saw the figure. Before she recognized the jester's hat and the lopsided smile.

"Ohhh, Listener!"

"Cicero! You're back!"

"Oh yes. You were a fool to spare me. Did you think I would be grateful? When I should be Listener?"

His grin stretched ear to ear and his eyes were as mad as ever–but no more.

Athene squinted. "Cicero? What are you on about?"

"Muahahahahahaha! Ohh, you should see your face! A joke, a joke! I am here for the Night Mother, yes, to serve her for ever and ever, just like you! Best friends forever!"

"Gods' sake, Cicero. I was going to slit your throat."

His smile quirked even wider. "Not if I got there first."

"Cicero."

"Joking."

"Of course. Look, Nazir and Babette are still with me, and they think you're dead. Let me tell them what happened before you go in there so you don't… So they don't… Just let me tell them."

"Of course."

A few steps closer to the black door she had an idea.

"Cicero?"

"Yesss, Listener?"

"What do you think of the Stormcloaks?"


	50. Lies

Ulfric Stormcloak made Athene wait while he finished business with the line of Windhelm nobles who wanted his ear. It was the same old problems: weather, crops, bandits, dragons. None of which would be solved if he defeated the Empire, Athene noted to herself. What did he do? He gave platitudes and threw a little money around. He remained deaf to the Dunmer slums and blind to the Argonians scrambling at the walls. And without him…

She wasn't a politician. She definitely wasn't Nord. But without Ulfric Stormcloak she knew her path would be clearer, and that was important right now.

So she waited.

When the nobles were finished squabbling he turned to her where she stood in her Stormcloak uniform. He remained slumped on this throne, and pulled at his beard.

"Word from Markarth is the steward has been keeping to his quarters more than usual. Some say he's been scared witless. By what I wonder?"

"It's a lie," Athene said.

"Oh?"

"He isn't even in Markarth."

Ulfric took a breath and for a second Athene wondered if he'd shout at her. But he only leaned forward, still slumped, and shook his head.

"Don't tell me you killed him."

"I didn't. But I did as Galmar instructed me and it worked out beyond our expectations."

This was the part she needed to sell. She looked up with wide elf eyes and said, "Beyond even the Greybeards' expectations."

He paused. He frowned. He finally got up from his throne and came to her, and she forced herself to stand her ground until he grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the main hall, into the alcove that led to his quarters. He studied her face and released her arm, and stayed close to her while he tugged again on his beard.

"So you climbed to High Hrothgar? This is why you left Whiterun, why you sent my axe in the hands of another?"

"I thought you would understand," Athene said.

"Did you tell this to Galmar?"

"I didn't have a chance. He threw me in jail before letting me speak."

"And was your tongue stilled behind the bars of our prison?"

"The Greybeards told me to hold my tongue. They told me the Way of the Voice, that I have a power I must not use, and they sent me away until I'd learned my place. I learned something then."

"Yes?"

"My place is here with you. I did not know how to say this to Galmar."

It seemed to take a moment to sink in. When it did Ulfric hissed and stepped back. But he was near her again in a moment, whispering.

"You don't know what you're playing with, girl. The Greybeards recognized your power and still sent you away?"

"It's as you said. They asked me to lay down my passions. You've likely heard enough about me from Galmar. Do you think it would ever be as easy as that? For me?"

"Not as easy as that for anyone, I'd think."

"Don't be foolish. My King," she added, quickly. "But you're surrounded by soldiers who look to you to tell them where to fight. What to think, even. They start with passion but they give it up to be your arm, your action. I can't do that, and it makes Galmar unable to trust me. But I think you'll understand. You know why I had to go, and why I came back."

"For me," he said.

Athene nodded.

He kissed her roughly. She tasted mead and beef, and his mouth was larger than hers, so she felt devoured. Once perhaps she'd have enjoyed it but today she just waited it out. She was still waiting for him, as she had in the main hall. Waiting for him to catch up and fall into line.

He was a King, in action if not in true power. Yet she didn't warm to him even as he trailed his kisses to her throat and whispered her name.

"Someone's coming," she said.

He pushed her to the wall and stood there, a few feet away. He was flushed and pale at once.

Athene raised her eyebrows.

"Tell me why Raerek isn't in Markarth," he said.

Finally.

"He's come here," she whispered. "Not the city, but close. He has information he thinks can win this war. But he's terrified. He remembers the days of your siege on The Reach, when you pushed out the Forsworn. He knows what you're capable of and he knows what will happen to him if his Jarl discovers his treachery, or if you aren't satisfied."

"So get the information and bring it to me."

"He will tell only you."

"You believe I should march outside my city walls to meet with a traitor who might only be there to murder me?"

"No. I will go there alone, first. I will give a signal that all is well. And then you will come, with any number of guards you think you need, and Galmar if you insist. Whatever will make you feel safe."

"I am a warrior," he said. "I do not need a legion of guards. But I must be careful all the same."

"I understand. Though I don't think this one will be a problem. He has… his own vulnerabilities."

"Oh?"

"A bastard daughter. When I couldn't find evidence of his Talos worship I used her to draw him out. They've both come, and there's no way he's leaving without her."

He looked at her as if just seeing her. "You go to great lengths to serve your King."

"As I said." Athene opened her palms as if showing him everything. "I cannot leave my passions behind so easily."

"I need to speak to Galmar about this."

"Good idea. I'll go back to the barracks."

He paused and might have been about to offer his bed, but Athene turned quickly and pretended not to see.


	51. The Liberation of Skyrim

Dusk shone orange through the snow flurries around Windhelm. Ulfric Stormcloak was hidden beneath a thick cloak and hood, escorted by his second in command, Galmar Stone-Fist. He hadn't announced his intentions and even the Stormcloak soldiers at the gates spared barely a nod to their true High King.

Athene watched from the end of the bridge that led over the inlet to the stables. She'd spent the night pacing and her eyes were fuzzy without sleep, but she felt sharp beneath it all, like there was something larger than herself inside her skin. Something with a jagged spine and talons, stretching to break free. She felt positively vicious.

As the two men approached she stood straighter and nodded.

"I've scouted the house. It looks good, but I still want to go in first."

"Of course," Galmar said. He'd lost none of his attitude since her release from jail and showed all his dislike for her with his tone and expression.

She smiled at him.

"Let's go," Ulfric said. "Dusk is a good time to travel unseen, but I don't want to stumble into an ambush in full night."

Athene led the way, a small figure in hide armor walking two well-bundled Nords that might have been visiting nobility, or hired mercenaries. Perhaps she appeared to be the nobility, and these were her bodyguards. The thought nearly made her laugh.

The house where they were headed was a quarter hour away and they made good time on the low road by the river. Steam rose up into a thick mist that shone gold, then silver, as the sun found the horizon. There was a torch burning in the abandoned house, making it visible from some way off. The group stopped and looked, studying the lay of the land, the cracks of light visible through the dilapidated walls, even the sky—Whatever they thought they needed to see. Galmar even turned and peered behind them.

"I'll go in," Athene said. She stepped forward.

Galmar put a rough hand on her shoulder and dragged her to a stop. She turned to him, annoyed, then saw his grim face and Ulfric's mirrored disappointment.

A lone figure walked out of the house, too tall to be a child. No one Athene knew. A soldier.

"What…?"

Ulfric shook his head. "Sorry, Dragonborn. But I do not give my trust away so easily as that. I had other men scout the house, men I trusted, and they found no sign of Raerek. No sign of anyone. Whatever you were planning tonight, it wasn't an exchange of information."

Killing the Emperor had been so easy compared to this. After all was said and done, she'd just murdered a ship of people and made her way to him. This? This was all psychology.

Galmar's fingers bit through her armor and Athene heard footsteps that were almost a march. How many others had he brought with him, without her knowledge? What was his reaction when he thought he'd been betrayed?

Well that much was obvious. King Torygg could have told her.

Facing the two men who finally knew her for a traitor, Athene heard a whisper on the wind, a rumble meant only for her.

_You are doom driven._

Galmar gasped, and she thought he'd heard it but then she saw he was staring some distance away.

"So there was a daughter," he said.

Now they could all see it, the crumbled form from behind the mist, and now obscured again. The child looked dead.

"Galmar," Ulfric's voice held a note of warning. He'd taken hold of Athene when his second in command moved away.

"I don't think she's breathing." Galmar stepped closer and knelt. "She's cold."

"Kynesgrove," Athene said.

"Don't speak to us." Galmar glared at her.

"Is she truly dead?" Ulfric said.

"I don't think so. Not yet. I can't tell what's wrong with her."

"Then the elf is right. You must take her to Kynesgrove, to someone who can help. Not back to Windhelm."

"I'm not leaving your side."

"I'll have my men. My loyal soldiers."

He shook Athene's shoulder as he said it and she looked up at him, putting as much amusement into her eyes as she could, quirking her mouth. "You don't trust me."

"Very good, elf."

"Last night you trusted me."

"Last night—"

"I could have killed you in your sleep after I'd sated you to exhaustion. That, I suppose, would have been a true Nord's death. Yes?"

"Don't speak to me." He growled, perhaps unwilling to admit to Galmar how close he'd come. But Galmar had Babette in his arms and was climbing up the hill.

What a softie, Athene thought.

She kept talking despite Ulfric's command.

"Do you wonder when I was turned? If I was ever loyal to you? Or do you assume that since I'm an elf treachery is my second nature?"

"Shut up."

"Will I get a trial this time? Or will you shout me apart yourself, right here?"

"Don't tempt my wrath, elf!"

Somewhere in the fog the smallest sound broke into their conversation. Something like a giggle, or the cackle of a mad clown.

Athene grinned. "You'll never know how much I knew about you. How much I might have told the Imperials. The Emperor himself, even. The Thalmor. Elenwen."

Ulfric's torture at the hands of the Altmer Elenwen was legendary. There were rumours it was what had finally led him to take up arms against the Empire.

As she said the name his eyes widened and he snarled, ferocious, the true son of the Bear of Markarth.

Athene slipped from his heavy grasp and dropped low, rolling into the fog toward the river.

"Come back here!" His shout made her flesh crawl. He was beyond furious now, ready to murder. But his anger deafened him, and stopped him from wondering why his so very loyal soldiers hadn't closed ranks around them. He would never realize the tiny giggle of an insane jester explained everything. He couldn't see the still forms of a dozen dead men, bleeding into the snow beyond the haze.

Head down against the chill, Athene ran. She made it to the river and splashed in, knowing her progress would be marked immediately, knowing his footsteps were close behind her.

On the far bank she pulled herself up as quickly as possible. The soft ground fell away but she pushed with her leather boots and scrabbled onto the road, out of the mist. The snow had stopped and the great city was lit along its bridge and walls, a beacon. Athene ignored it and threw herself off the road to a path that curved up over boulders to a single massive figure.

The statue of Talos stood staring at the traditional capital of his once great country. Sword in hand, he bowed his head to the strife that had eaten at his countrymen. The man-turned-God who claimed the blood of dragons was silent as Athene reached his back and turned, Ulfric Stormcloak on her heels.

The assassin smoothly slid two daggers out of her sleeves and drove them deep into Ulfric's shoulders.

He blinked at her, and laughed. This was why she'd never tried the direct approach before. It was useless. He was too strong, too battle-hardened. He brushed away her hands, and as she dove behind him he readied his waraxe, aimed at her head even after she'd moved. He was quick, too.

Athene took a breath.

"FUS!" she Shouted.

Without a moment to react Ulfric was thrown back, doll-like, tossed from the seat of the shrine. From Talos' arms he sailed over the boulders and down, down, to the stone bridge that led across the river to his city. He landed with the crack of a glacier breaking from summer thaw.

Athene breathed, just breathed, and looked at him. He was absolutely still. His waraxe was several feet away, his arms outstretched.

"Hail Sithis," she said. But it was another God that echoed in her mind and whispered its rumbling warning for her alone.

_Doom driven._


	52. The Listener's Request

The child-like vampire smiled in Galmar Stone-Fist's face. She patted his beefy arm where it was shackled to the wall. He was the only occupant in the newly-refurbished torture room of the Dawnstar sanctuary.

"Don't feel too bad about how you've ended up," she said. "You were trying to be nice."

"Die, monster!"

"Oh, now that you should feel bad about. I've heard better insults from children. Other children." She laughed.

Galmar yanked hard against his binds. It wasn't the first time. His arms were coated in blood where he'd worried them against the stone and metal. He panted and fell to his knees.

"Please!"

"That's better," Babette said. She turned and walked out.

In the dining area Nazir sat with Athene and two new recruits. One recruit, a Nord who called himself Blood-Spatter, had asked Athene three times to repeat her version of events outside Windhelm the night Ulfric died. Three times she'd refused him.

"Go make some potions," Babette said as she got near. Blood-Spatter slunk away.

The other recruit was a Breton named Margrite. She was staring at Athene with some kind of reverence.

Athene was having none of it.

"I'm not taking part in the fallout from this. If Ulfric's death helps the Dark Brotherhood's reputation even more than the Emperor's did, that's all on you lot. You take it and run with it."

"But you're the one who actually did it," Margrite said. Then she blushed so red Nazir laughed and slapped her shoulder.

"That's not the point." Athene took a long swallow of mead and closed her eyes. "The point of the Brotherhood is we're in it together. When one of us serves the Night Mother, we all do."

"You sound like you read the guidebook and you're reciting party lines." Nazir nudged her leg with his foot. "What's the story, Listener?"

Athene glared at him. "This is new to all of us. You were with Astrid for years. Don't tell me you've converted to the faith overnight, and now you live and breathe the will of Sithis?"

"I always suspected there was something more to this outfit than what Astrid claimed. And it wasn't overnight, my friend. In case you didn't notice, it's been months since _we_ killed the Emperor. The Dark Brotherhood's reputation is better than it has been in years. And by 'better' I mean 'terrifying' and 'ruthless.' You did that. Maybe the rest of Tamriel believes it was a joint effort—"

"It was a joint effort. Do you think I could have done what I did to the Gourmet, or known Maro's weakness on my own? Do you think I would have survived outside Windhelm if I'd been alone with Ulfric, Galmar, and the thirty other soldiers they brought along? That was you guys, too. That was all of us."

There was companionable silence at the table for a while.

"Well, thank you," Nazir finally said.

Babette grinned. She was looking extra toothy today, Athene thought. The vampire had been in good spirits since she'd dragged Galmar's unconscious body over the doorstep and announced that dinner was on her.

"But if it was all of us, why are you suddenly bowing out? Not taking part in the fun after Ulfric's demise, even as the political contracts start rolling in and every Noble from here to Cyrodiil tries to shuffle into place? Not to mention the continued excitement from Titus Mede's death. With Nords and Imperials both mourning, the fallout is likely to be as exciting as the Civil War."

He stopped. Athene's face was ash-coloured.

"Not good?" he said.

"I thought this would help," she said. "Maybe stop some of the madness the Civil War caused."

"Why would you want to stop madness?" Babette said. She spared a glance to the Night Mother's coffin, where Cicero was shoulders deep with his daily polishing routine.

"I don't know." She stood abruptly. "But there's something I need to do."

As she strode up the stairs, Margrite gazing after her, Babette and Nazir gave each other a look.

"She doesn't know?" Babette said.

"She knows," Nazir said.

Athene tapped Cicero on the shoulder. He squealed and backed out of the Night Mother's coffin, one rag in hand and another gripped between his teeth.

"Liftna!" he said.

She pulled the rag from his mouth.

"Listener! You scared poor Cicero."

"You're welcome. How's our Mother today?"

"Gleaming."

"I'm relieved to hear it. Cicero, let me thank you again for your help in Windhelm. Without your interference…"

"The Listener would be dead!"

He was still grinning, but it didn't put her off. She was getting used to him after all. So she smiled right back.

"True enough. And you're happy here?"

"Absolutely!"

"I'm glad. Now, do you mind if…?"

She looked at the coffin. Cicero got the point and scurried away.

The mummified remains of their Mother lay back in her metal bed, eyes black and grin as wide as Babette's. Athene stepped closer and looked at the lines on the soft skin of her cheeks. The still hands where they gripped each shoulder. She was perfect, as she had been since the day they'd been introduced. As she would be long after Athene rotted.

"Mother," Athene said. "I think you know what I'm going to say."

She looked over her shoulder, but Cicero was some distance away, rubbing at a spot on an iron bar. The others were still down by the fire.

"I have lived for the Brotherhood this last year. I have never refused your requests, even when it meant going against Astrid, our apparent leader. We have pulled ourselves up from obscurity into the sight of all Tamriel. And no doubt we will be a force reckoned with for the next age, or longer.

"But now I have a request. Take back this mantle. Let the Dark Brotherhood exist without me, because I need to leave and I don't know when I'll be back. I could just go and leave them in silence, but we both know they need a Listener. And we both know there are ears on offer."

She cocked her head toward Cicero, and allowed herself a smile.

"Keep well. Well preserved, that is."

Athene turned her back on the Night Mother—not without respect, but with certain finality—and went to gather her things.


	53. Shield Brother

Athene was three bottles of mead into oblivion when the three bandits that had taken over her camp beneath Whiterun returned for the night.

She'd been surprised to find it unoccupied anyway, so she wasn't surprised to hear their footsteps. But it pissed her off that they didn't think anything of the fire she'd lit and the rabbit stew she had bubbling. They laughed and sat in the dirt and shared their ale between them as if their own mothers had set up camp, and not one seemed to wonder how that was possible.

She glowered from the shadows and calculated her odds.

Three against one. But one that had become very good at quick attacks from the darkness. On the other hand she was a little tipsy, and she didn't want her new quest to finish at the business end of some idiot bandit's warhammer, before she'd had a chance to screw it up some other way.

One of the bandits fell over backwards and began to snore. The others laughed.

Athene raised an eyebrow. Two against one.

Their voices rose into cacophony, both choosing different drinking songs as they tried to out-ballad each other. Athene winced. When one hit a nose reserved for babies and drowning cats, the other choked on his drink. As he wiped his eyes and tried to recover, the shadows moved behind him and a blade slid easily through his leather tunic. The slice cut right to his heart.

He stopped choking.

The last conscious bandit believed he'd won and cheered, tossing an empty bottle out from the camp to spook a nearby horse. He hiccupped and giggled, and was still smiling when his throat was slit and he collapsed by the fire.

The sleeping bandit was dispatched without trial. Athene looked at her handiwork and realized one irritating fact: there were now three dead bodies in her camp, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

"At least no one can claim I'm letting myself get rusty," she muttered. She picked up her backpack and made for town. There'd be wolves soon, and not the kind she needed.

After a restless night at The Drunken Huntsman, and the loss of a good ten gold to Janessa—damn the Dunmer's poker face—Athene made her way to Jorrvaskr. She didn't sneak or hide, and didn't even walk through the door. She went around back and asked Athis where Farkas was. Even when he smirked she refused to give up, though she felt her cheeks burn.

"I think the Circle are still in discussion with the Harbinger. Hang on, and I'll tell him you _want_ him."

"Yes, hilarious."

For all his teasing, he did as he said and Farkas appeared in the courtyard as if he'd run there.

She hadn't been to Whiterun since the battle where Galmar led Ulfric's troops, and Athene had been suspiciously absent. Although she knew Farkas hadn't been killed or even badly hurt during the battle, seeing him in the flesh made her more glad than she'd anticipated. It was a feeling he seemed to reflect right back at her as his face split into a terrific grin.

"Sorry," he said. "I know it's a time of tragedy. At least that's what everyone is saying. Still, it's great to see you."

"Uh," Athene said, while her mind said a dozen things much more coherent, all at once. Unable to choose, she fell silent.

"Athene? You okay?"

"Yes, of course. Look, I'm sorry about Ulfric."

Well, that wouldn't do. Starting with a massive lie? _Dammit._

"Yeah, I know. I'm glad you weren't there when his group was ambushed. Do you know they still haven't found Stone-Fist?"

This was really not going in the direction Athene wanted. She pulled him to the side of the courtyard.

She blurted, "I'm going to High Hrothgar. Will you come with me?"

"The 7000 steps! Sure! Wait, hang on. You're not technically a companion so if I'm going to be your Shield Brother, I gotta talk to Vilkas."

"You have to ask your brother if you're allowed?"

"Not exactly. But we watch each other's backs. I can't just run off without saying something."

Athene shrugged. "Fair enough."

Sitting in the courtyard waiting while Farkas made his case to the Circle, and Athis and Njada whispered and threw her looks, was one of the most difficult half-hours Athene had put up with that year. And considering the year she'd had, that was saying something. When Farkas returned with his pack and broadsword she'd nearly ground her teeth flat.

"We're off then?"

"I can't wait," he said. "The 7000 steps! Even Vilkas hasn't been. Aela said travelling with you I'd learn a lot about a lot of things and she seemed to think that was funny. Do you know what she meant?"

Athene shook her head.

"Oh, well. I can't wait to find out. And hey, the 7000 steps! Did you know Tiber Septim himself supposedly went up there? And do you know about Kyne? At the Throat of the World? Hey, what do they think about Kyne in Valenwood, anyway?"

Farkas kept up his chatter all the way out of the city.


End file.
